Young, Gifted and Biracial

N.B. If you’re my Mom skip this one.

I met my father when I was 23 years old. He was renting an apartment in Northport, AL. He was sitting in his kitchen drinking cooking sherry. And when it’s the first time you’ve met your father, and he offers you a drink of cooking sherry, you fucking drink the goddamn cooking sherry.

I immediately figured out why I was a big guy. My father is a tower of a man. Long arms, wide shoulders, and at 6' 7", I only come up to his chest. I figured out why I have big feet: he’s a size 16. This was a big moment for me. I never felt like I fit in. Not just the normal fitting in either. I was physically different than the world I occupied. But around him, my weird body made sense.

When I was very young, I always imagined who my father could be. One thing was clear: I didn’t have one like other kids. My mom and dad getting married when I was almost 6 was a chance to start over. My dad lived in an apartment in boulder. Mom drove back and forth a lot. There was no city buildup between Denver and boulder back then. There was a big nothing on the boulder turnpike as you drove into the boulder valley. My dad seemed to cook a lot, and we bonded over making pizza with those pre-made Boboli crusts. He adopted me, and I bear his name, not the name of my father. Mom and Dad are still together and happy, near as I can tell.

However, the years of having a whole complete family, the road trips, and all the things we did never seemed to help me forget…