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Why this website exists
If I were to die tomorrow, no one could tell my story. My children would grow up not knowing that they had a father who loved them, and thought about them every day, and wanted very desperately to be a part of their lives.
This website exists because itâ€™s a bonfire that no one can censor, fueled by a fatherâ€™s love.
This website exists because I send my daughters flowers, and I never know if theyâ€™ve gotten them. For all I know, their mother throws them away. I send my daughters Amazon Gift Cards. I buy them presents from their Amazon Wish List. I send Gift Cards for their favorite restaurants. I send Sophia pajamas and silly things. I send Morey Drunk History videos and books on everything that interests her. I send heartfelt letters. I send e-mails. My mother sends them National Geographic subscriptions and birthday cards with cash, but thereâ€™s never a Thank You reply, or any reply at all.
I log into Skype, and wait for them to call at the appointed time. But they donâ€™t call.
Some of the presents I bought my daughters (including a hand-carved chess set from Afghanistan) were carelessly thrown away, unused and never unwrapped. My daughters are trapped behind a firewall comprised of their vengeful mother, her scumbag lawyer and a corrupt Family Court system. I am denied my court-ordered visitation and Skype calls.
I have no idea if my daughters know that Iâ€™m out here, on the outside, trying urgently to reach them. They need to know I havenâ€™t given up on them.
My daughter Sophia has very few memories of me. Iâ€™ve been gone most of her life. I missed her first words and first steps. She remembers bits and pieces of our time together. But memories fade. When she grows up, sheâ€™ll only have some vague memory of me. Or perhaps, none at all. She and I desperately need to make new memories together.
My daughter Morey is old enough, of course, to remember me. But sheâ€™ll become a young lady without me. Sheâ€™ll grow up without the protection or influence of a father, but only with the influence of her motherâ€™s friends and family, all of whom despise me. Iâ€™m sure they will tell her that I am worthless, only good for sending money once a month, and even then, not very good at that. Sperm Donor. Paycheck. Irredeemable piece of Yankee shit.
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