Whot's the Father Day?

Several weeks ago, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to find a nervous looking young woman standing there. I didn’t think much of it; I figured she was one of my son’s friends.

She looked at me very carefully, then asked me my name. After I told her, she said, “You’re my father.”

I looked at her incredulously. “Whaaaaaaaaaat?" Then, “How old are you?”

“I just turned 18 a few weeks ago.”

“What makes you think I’m your father?” I asked, noting that her hair coloring and texture was quite similar to mine. “And why did you come to me now?”

“I didn’t know myself until I turned 18,” she explained. “My mother told me she’d had an affair and that you were my father.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “My parents went through an ugly divorce not too long ago, but she waited until I turned 18 to tell me that my Dad wasn’t my Dad, so that he’d continue to pay child support.”

“Nice of her,” I commented under my breath. “What’s your mother’s name?”

She told me, but it didn’t ring a bell. I asked her if she had a picture of her mother. I looked intently at the picture she showed me, but I still couldn’t remember this woman, let alone sleeping with her.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea who this woman is,” I said. “I don’t remember sleeping with her.”

I waited as the implications of what I’d just said sunk in -- that if I were indeed her biological father, then her mother’s “affair” had been no more than a one-night stand.

Though obviously crestfallen, she took a deep breath and said, “I want us to take a DNA test, to prove it.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not interested.” After a pause, I continued, “Whether or not I contributed half your DNA, the man who raised you is your father.”

It was quite possible that I had indeed sired the young woman standing before me, but that was beside the point. I felt nothing for her and I didn’t want to be drawn into that particular family’s drama.

After I showed her a picture of my son, she left, obviously disappointed. She called back once, asking me if I’d changed my mind about the DNA test. I told her I hadn’t. I'm hoping this will be the end of it.

I hope she is spending today with her father -- the man who raised her.