Daily Journal

Sperm donor Valentine

Two and a half years — your age when we met.

Your mom (my high school obsession) called me on Superbowl Sunday 1989.

We set a date to meet, but as would happen repeatedly the following 20 years, drama intervened and we convened days earlier in front of a liquor store on La Paz road in Mission Viejo. She’d driven up from San Diego after attacking your grandmother with a shoe, more on that later, but this isn’t about her.

You were in the backseat.

After a few months, we all moved in together in Huntington Beach, and your mom and I married a couple years later.

I think it’s wonderful that you remember your sperm donor so fondly.

Those times when he:

brushed the knots out of your hair (because you’re mom didn’t have the patience)

held you during the night terrors until you were 4

changed your wetted underwear and bed sheets

provided a home, food to eat and your own bed

taught you that there’s nothing you can’t overcome, especially homework that time when you were giving up, crying on the kitchen table because you didn’t get it, and then you did

video taped every one of your school shows

took you to the emergency room at all hours, regardless

bought the albuterol, amoxicillin, claritol and all the other meds prescribed to keep you breathing

encouraged you to follow your dream

objectively gave you kudos where deserved, and offered constructive criticism where needed

warned you about Sean, let you make that mistake, on your own, anyway, but always watching (yes, there’s things you don’t know)

paid for car insurance, bought you a car, bought you a phone, paid for your phone and usage, even when you upgraded without asking. but that’s just money.

paid for two semesters at the University of Hawaii

Took you back and forth to work, at whatever job, whenever, when asked.

Showed up at your door with the uhaul at 5am, with the contents of your storage unit, already packed, for the Dec. 10 combo garage sale we had planned. In which you made out pretty well, including the meatball sandwich from Lucci’s, while we were making deliveries after a long day.

Oh wait, that wasn’t the sperm donor. that was me.

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