Childhood Dreams Turn Into Grown Up Nightmares

    The questions children spend their seemingly careless days pondering over as adolescents are often answered as they live their adult lives. For most of us, our questions often seem silly to us as we get older. What's it like to be an adult? What's it like to have my own family? Who will I love?     I sit here and laugh at myself thinking about all the things I used to spend hours obsessing over. Things I now see as silly, but meant so much to me when I was growing up. I smile, even though no one can see, about all the things I thought my life would be like and how many of them are true - and others aren't.     Perhaps as we grow older (for some of us anyway), we grow less selfish and begin to see things through other's eyes. You try to imagine your life differently, what would it be like to be in someone else's shoes? Some things I can't even imagine.     Not knowing my father seems unfathomable to me. My dad is by far one of the most important people in my entire world, and I wouldn't be anywhere near the person I am without him in my life. Yet there are people who go their entire lives without ever laying their eyes on the person who contributed to giving them life. Whether it was because of tragedy, or simply because that man just didn't care - it's a much too common occurrence.     Being a newly proud parent with the most perfect of all beings I could have possibly chosen as a father for my son, I have become so passionate about the subject it's almost obsessive. I spend hours upon hours researching, emailing, calling and writing to people I have never met. I have lost hours upon hours of sleep, so knee deep on websites containing priceless, seemingly irrelevant information. Just to find that one piece I need, that last piece to my puzzle.     I wish I could say my obsession ended there, but it doesn't. Like a puzzle containing a vibrant picture of the world's most beautiful scenery, I sit there and gander at my work. Very much so pleased with myself and my dedication, I feel an urge to do more.     Especially when you come across a man like Leroy Frank Antonelli.     Leroy or "Lee" as his unfortunate "friends" call him, is a man of many colors. Most of them are dark, ugly and useless colors. Others paint a lively, exciting picture for you to gaze upon - but not for long. A man like Lee can only stay bright for short periods of time. He'll paint you the most brilliant picture you've ever seen, until he decides to show you his true colors. A man of many words (mostly lies), and a man of true dedication to being an excuse of a human being.     A few weeks ago, my family and I were enjoying our new found family members in a pleasant visit. My grandmother, who like my father is such an influential person in my life, met her father after 63 years. Her childhood fantasy and so many questions went unheard and unanswered for so long, and after 63 years, she was able to bring peace to that inner child.     During this incredible, life altering visit, my Uncle Clint or "Bo" as I like to call him, felt inspiration brewing inside him. Perhaps it was his inner child speaking, the one with so many dreams and expectations, but he asked me to find his father. Curiosity could no longer be held back - he had to know.     Little did he know, I had already found him. Sitting on my desk was a phone number and an address, waiting to be of help to me. The look on his face when I handed him the note was something I didn't expect. Maybe out of uncertainty or possibly the suddenness of the situation, he was taken aback. Too unsure of it all, he asked me to call the number.     Being an expert at finding dads (or people in general), I knew I had the right guy.     I stepped outside of the crowded apartment where my family had been gathered, and dialed the number. Not expecting an answer, I sat on the curb waiting for the phone to ring. "Hello?" I hear.      Sounding a bit surprised, I responded. "Hi, I'm looking for a man by the name of Leroy Frank Antonelli."      "Who is this?"      "Oh, uh, this is Sara. Are you Leroy?"      "Yes, how'd you get my number?"      "Oh um, I've been doing some research on my family, and I think you might be my uncle's father. His name is Clint."      I am now pacing the sidewalk, trying to gather my thoughts.      "I only have one son."      "Oh, well did you know a Sandra Bratton?"      "No. How did you get my number. I'm not listed in the phone book."      "Did you live in the Berkley area in the late sixties and early seventies?"      "No, just in the sixties. Who are you?"      "I'm Clint's niece. He's your son. Did you work for the phone company?"      "I only have one son."      "Well I'm sorry to waste your time, have a nice day."      Click.      Still feeling a bit surprised, I reentered the apartment full of people. My uncle looks up from the table with a questioning look on his face.      "No one answered." Was all I could say.      I sat down next to him, listening to my family and friends exchange stories, still taken aback by this rude individual who was unfortunately my uncle's father. How can someone deny his own son? And over 40 years later, when presented with a second chance, he still denies him? I was too embarrassed for this man named Leroy, that I couldn't even tell my uncle about our "talk." I felt this man's shame and his cruel way of painting such a vivid picture with such dark colors.      As the days pass and we said good bye to my newly found great-grandfather, he reminded me that such a life changing event can be so beautiful. To be reunited with someone you never knew is really possible, and that family is the most important thing you can have in your life, blood or not.      I had given up on Leroy, but not on my uncle. He asked me for my help, and I was going to make something good out of a sticky situation.       After many more hours devoted to searching for clues about this man I now despised, I came across a post from March of 2003. It was a post my Aunt Bettie had posted years ago about trying to find her half-brother's father, Leroy Frank Antonelli. I continued to scroll through meaningless words when my eyes stopped upon a post from a woman named Kristie.   Hi there, This is going to be a shock to you...The man you are looking for Leroy Frank Antonelli aka..Lee. He is my biological father. My mother and he had an affair 38 years ago, and I was born. Kristine Lanette Antonelli. He also has a daughter named Lana Christine Antonelli, and a son named Michael Antonelli. Not surprising that there are more siblings out there. So far its me (Kristie, Lana, Michael, and now Clint). Do you have a picture of him. I am sending a pic of me along with this. I am told i look very much like Lee. I have only seen him twice...and thats a good thing. Hes pretty rotten. Hope to hear from you soon. You can email me at ******* Kristie      I had to chuckle to myself for a moment. Siblings had never crossed my mind. How could they not? I knew first hand the importance of a sister, mine meant the world to me. Just five years ago, my parents had adopted my mother's eleven year old brother due to a negligent dad. A little brother my mom knew nothing about until my Aunt Bettie found him just a few years before.       I asked my Aunt Bettie about the response to the post, and as I suspected, she hadn't seen it. All her hard work had paid off and she didn't even know it! Without her, I would never have found Edward Fuller, my grandmother's father. All the research she had done years ago made it possible for our families to reunite. All the hours she spent on the computer had brought my mom closer to a brother she never knew, giving him a second chance at an amazing life he would have never gotten.      This inspired me like nothing else had ever inspired me. I immediately ran a background check, which is somewhat easy, and very much HARD. Making sure you have the right person is key - so I apologize to all of the Kristie's in the world who got emails from me (oops!).       After days of sorting and emailing, I'm pretty confident I know enough about the woman I am looking for to contact her. In doing so, my uncle and his newly found sister have a new chapter to write in their lives. It's too bad their father will only be a foot note, nothing even worthy of a sentence.      But I will tell you what my uncle is worth - and the rest of my family for that matter. They are worth more than a man who sweet talks women until they get pregnant. They are worth more than a man who drives a blue Mach One to and from his job for the phone company and hangs out at Johnny's Bar in Alameda County. They are worth than a man who not only abandons women, but their own children.       Poor Leroy's wife, Julie. She knows nothing of this. She only knows that she turned 66 this past May, and the unfortunate woman has been married to this man, who she probably calls "Lee," for way too long if you ask me. Sure, she has a son with this man, and he actually stuck around (who's suffering in this equation, really?), but what kind of picture has her artist of a husband painted for her?      Having pondered such a life, I can't help but feel sorry for Leroy. To be such an excusable person, to be worth nothing more than thought. Honestly, none of it matters. The family that sticks by your side, blood or not, is the family I want in my life and my son's life.       There's not much that can be asked of Leroy after this. I only hope that the night of our friendly phone conversation, he laid there in his bed awake, his ghosts from his pasts coming out to haunt him. I can only hope that realizes his lack of worth to his children, and that he continues to remain a horrible human being. And I know he will think of me a lot more than I'll ever think of him (poor guy, I totally ruined his day). Even when all of this is sitting at the back of his mind, something will remind him of the children he walked away from and the women he painted a picture of chances and opportunity for and then crushed every dream they had.      And for my uncle and his siblings, nothing Leroy can do or say to you will be enough to pardon his inexcusable existence. Perhaps someday it will matter to him, but don't hold your breath.