(With input by 'Irish Lass' and edited by "LarryInSeattle")
*****
My dad always referred to himself as an entrepreneur. He was constantly moving from one place to another, one job to another, and one 'get-rich-quick' scheme to another. So in other words, my dad was a crook, a con artist to be more precise. That's why my mom divorced him when I was six years old.
For the next eight years my mom and I lived alone. She worked at a local healthcare center and I did odd jobs in the neighborhood. On occasion, we'd get a card or letter from my dad from some exotic place telling us that 'this was the one' and either asking my mom to join him or, more often, asking her for money.
And that's how it was until just after my 14
th
birthday. Then one night my mom came home from work complaining of a severe headache. By the next morning she was gone. The doctors refused to tell me anything because I was a minor so it wasn't until years later that I realized she'd had a stroke and, hopefully, passed in her sleep.
The confusion that followed did little to help me get over the loss of my mom. According to her, she'd made arrangements with my uncle to take care of me if anything ever happened to her. Unfortunately, she'd never put anything in writing so I became a ward of the state and for almost a year I lived in a foster home while the government searched for my father.
When they finally found him he was in Chile and while he said he'd come back to the US right away. Yeah, fat chance, he didn't show up for almost six weeks. When he did show up he was pretty much as my mom had described him. His hair was black with just the slightest hint of gray around the temples. It was trimmed with every hair in place and his nails were manicured to a glossy finish. His eyes were a gray-green and his smile was perfectly white, with every tooth in place. He was dressed in a gray, tailor-fit, suit and wore a pair of black shoes that gleamed from being so highly polished. He wore a gold ring on his left ring finger that had an emerald in it that was bigger than his fingernail and an expensive watch on his right wrist. His voice was soothing and refined so you could understand every word and you instantly felt you could trust him; yet this was exactly what my mother had warned me about.
The rest of the week was spent jumping through legal hoops, as the saying goes, until the judge approved all the paperwork and then, just like that, ... BAM ... I was now my father's son.
For the next four years, we bounced from place to place across the globe: Singapore, Tokyo, Baghdad, Cairo, Mexico City, anywhere but the United States. Dad said he didn't want to 'muddy the water' if he ever needed a place to call home which was a good idea since many times we left the town we'd been staying in with either the police or others chasing us.
During those years my dad tried more than once to teach me his 'trade' but I wasn't interested so it wasn't surprising that when I turned 18 and had a chance to go to college, I left. With all the moving around the world I'd already done I decided to major in Anthropology. And so, for the next 6 years, I barely saw my dad though we talked several times a week, either on the phone or with video conferencing.
When I graduated, I decided to surprise him with a visit. Dad was living in Istanbul at the time. The city had once been known as Constantinople and had been the melting pot and merging place of two continents and multiple vastly different cultures over the ages. Little did I know how much that visit would change my life.
'She' answered the door when I knocked. I towered over her yet there was something about her that made me feel small as I stood there. She was dressed in a simple niqab and abaya which revealed only her eyes. They were a brilliant blue that sparkled in the late-afternoon light. They were also encircled by delicate lines of jet-black eye liner which added to the sense of mystery and hidden sensuality at the same time.
"May I help you, sir?" she asked in a soft tone that seemed to float on the winds.
"Ummmm ... yes. I'm Kevin. I was looking for my father. I understand he lives here."
"Oh, yes, sir. Please come in."
"Tha ... tha ... thank you," I stuttered as I entered.
The woman moved with the grace of a dancer as she headed towards the back of the house while I was left standing in the foyer. I could hear her calling my father's name as she looked for him. Then things went silent. A few moments later my father appeared, his arms outstretched.
"Kevin. Come in, come in," he said as he led me to the living room. "Please sit down. I wasn't expecting you. Is something wrong? I thought you had classes."
"I graduated, dad," I replied realizing just how little he'd listened to anything I'd said during our talks.
"Ahhhhh, yes. Now I remember," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the bar. "Would you like something to drink?"
"No thanks. I don't drink."
"Ahhhh ... well, to each his own," he said as he poured an amber liquid into a large tumble. "Now, where were we. Ahhh, yes ... school. Now, I recall you saying something about almost being done. But why didn't you let me know when you graduated? I could have been there or at least sent a gift. And why in the world are you here?"
Hurt and upset, I replied, "I DID tell you!! I even sent you an invitation to the ceremony!! As for being here, I could lie and say I came to see you but the honest truth is I've been hired by a research group to do a study on the various cultural groups here in Istanbul."
He froze in place, staring at me as his face reddened whether in embarrassment or anger I didn't know nor care. "So, you came to study the local's is that it?"
I was about to reply when 'she' walked into the room and said softly, "Dinner is ready." Her comment was like a bucket of cold water being dumped on my head causing my anger and frustration to melt away.
"Yes, ... thank you, Sarah."
"Sarah ... so that's her name,"
