···Mama Scribble···: {1950} & him

   Sometime on September 16, 1950 a baby boy was born. He was born in a small and poor town in the Dominican Republic; the city of Bonao to be exact. He was named, Angel 'Marco' Antonio Rufino-Santo Nastasio. His mother, Gabriella, was an abandoned orphan that was raised by a strong willed Dominican black woman. Gabriella was Sicilian by birth. Gabriella's mother had died shortly after giving birth to her. Her father, Miguel, was an army pilot trying to flee from being killed by his people (who knows what he had done).

   Marco's father, Eduardo Rufino, was a bit of a woman's man. Gabriella and Eduardo would eventually divorce. Eduardo would later have many wives and father many children. He'd raise Marco alongside one of his wive's because in Marco's early life, Gabriella would travel to New York to find work. Gabriella never raised Marco. Many years later, Marco would travel to New York and start a semblance of a life there. Although, the early years of his life would inevitably shape his relationships, commitments and overall sense of self worth he always loved his mother. Gabriella died of breast cancer in 1986 at the age of 54. Eduardo died of heart failure in 1991.

   In 1976 Marco would meet a young, vivacious, stunningly gorgeous and emotionally broken young woman. Although she was married with two beautiful little girls, she'd leave her husband and children and escape to New York with Marco. She'd later regret this for the rest of her life. Marco and his new lady, Marta, would live together in New York. In 1977, Marco would father his first daughter and Marta's third daughter. Their relationship would not last. A love triangle of sorts. She'd escape back to her Miami home town and negate Marco any contact with his daughter.

   They were both young (him 26 and she 22), ignorant and selfish. She'd forever resent him for being unfaithful and him her for being reactive and explosive but their daughter would love them either way. Their short lived marriage and the absence of a biological father would inevitably shape the way their daughter choose to live her own life.

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The above story belongs to my father and mother.

   After years of wondering who my father was and forever desiring a father-daughter relationship with my own flesh and blood, I decided that it was time to search for him. My mother assisted me in my search. She was helpful and available for the task. I was seventeen and a junior in high school. My mother went to the Public Library to search the New York State white pages for my father's sister, my God mother and the person I once shared the same first name with, Laura. The search took about a week. It was October 1994. The day before Halloween, actually. My mother called me at my then boyfriend's house and told me that she had tracked down a work number for him, my father.

'He works for the county, right down the street.' My mother said.

'No, way!' I gasped. I curled the twisty phone cord around my fingers.

'Yes, Nani! I have his number, write it down.' She responded.

'O.k...' I quickly jotted the number down with a blue pen.

'So...are you going to call him now?' She asked.

'Uh, I guess. I'm nervous though.' I said.

'Just call! You have nothing to lose.' She told me.

'Ok. I'll call you back.' I said.

The Phone Call

I hung up with my mother and starred at the phone for about five minutes or so. My mouth was dry. My hands were jittery and clammy and just a ~~fucking~~ mess. My heart...my heart was pounding so hard, I could hear it in my ears. I slowly picked up the receiver. Then, I quickly hung it up again. I did this about three times. I looked like an OCD psychopath! Finally, I dialed. And waited.

(Two rings)

'Miami-Dade County Metro how may I direct your call?' The operator said.

'Uh... yes, M-Marco Rufino...please?'

'One moment. Please hold.' She said.

I can't hang up now. I'm on hold and if I'm on hold that means that someone is paging him and if someone was paging him that means that he's probably walking toward the phone right now. I can't possibly hang up now and make him leave his work post to simply waste his time on picking up the phone to not hear anyone on the other end. I have to stay on the line, I have to stay on the line, I have to stay on the line. He can't see me through the phone anyway. What's the big deal? Breathe, Vanessa, breathe....

'Hello?' A man's voice asked. His voice was subtle and much different than I had imagined.

'Uh...hello. Is this Mr. Rufino?' I asked with zero confidence.

'Who is this?' He asked. His tone was puzzled and curious and almost too confident for my jittery state. His accent was thick.

'Well, you don't know me but I need to speak with you.' I said trying to sound together, calm and assertive.

Should I hang up now? If I hang up he'll never know who I was. I can just hang up right now! I can always say that I at least heard my father's voice. That's enough for me. I could do that and tell my mom that I changed my mind about him. I can hang up now and forget this whole stupid thing!

'Is your birth date August 4th, 1977?' He asked.

Completely stunned and impressed and in a serious state of 'holy crap!' I answered quickly.

'Yes.'

'Could this be Vanessa?'

Tears quickly welled up in my eyes. I held the receiver closely to my ear and exhaled in relief.
At that very instant I knew that he knew who I really was and that he had probably known it from the moment he heard my nervous voice over the phone. I had finally found my Dad.

Within hours of that phone call we'd meet at his work and we'd hug one another tightly and say an awkward 'Hello, so nice to meet you.' That day was the start of my relationship with my real father. I ended up blending into his family and I welcomed every ounce of him that I had missed in my early years, same for him.

I'm still learning things about him. Him and I have much in common and it comforts me to know that I can still connect with him in spite of the years of absence. Awkward and exciting and emotional isn't enough to describe the feeling of that evening in October 1994.

Of all the memories I've created with my father over the years, the one that tops them all was the day I got married and how my father gave me away and was present at one of the most important days of my life...

Dad & me on my wedding day, April 12, 2003

My real father giving me away...

lovely day...

Father Daughter dance to Nat & Natalie Cole's 'Unforgettable'

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Today, September 16th, is my father's birthday. He's 61 years old. I called him earlier today and sang him the 'Happy Birthday' song (stuffed up nose and all). I could hear his charismatic smile over the phone. I could imagine the crows feet lines around his small eyes and the permanently creased smile lines around his mouth as he responded 'thank you!'. I could hear his love for me and how happy he sounds each time I call him. This makes me happy.

Here's to my father...Happy Birthday Dad! I love you and always will.

I put the girls on the phone to wish him a 'happy birthday' as well. I could hear his contagious laugher on the other end each time one of the girls said 'I love you Grandpa'...

my dad and his granddaughters (my little girls)

dad always blinks and the girls are always distracted...oh lovely photo!

I love this photo...Dad came by to see the girls one day (I was about 6 weeks pregnant with Kalina) and ended up joining in on their tea party...it was so sweet.... (Sabrina age 3 & Luna age 2)