Just the other day, a not so close friend of mine said to me, "I always hear you talk about your mother, but you never mention your father. Can I ask why?" So of course, me being the jokester that I am said he died when I was just a child. Realizing that was kind of a grim statement, I quickly retracted it.

"He left when I was really young," I said. I continued about how I hadn't really seen him since I was about four-years-old or so. It kind of made me think for a bit. Lately I've seen previews for some show on ABC about people wanting to, or being reunited with long lost family members. I thought to myself...well, actually, I said it out loud (Alex was in the room with me watching too). I said, "Wouldn't it be crazy, if a parent was reunited with a long-lost child, and they were in tears, but the response from the child was something like,'Why the F*** are you here? Why have you been looking for me after all these years?'" I mean, just imagine how a child could really be that angry with someone after all that time.

Then it dawned on me...was I possibly angry with my own father? It's something I've never teally discussed with anyone. I've never really thought about being reunited with him. Afterall, he left us. Why should I care how he's doing, or what he's doing for that matter. He wasn't here for me or my brothers or sister.

I can remember a time when he called our house. I was about 11 years old, and he actually called while I was doing homework. I was in junior high school at the time. I answered the phone and he asked to speak with my mother. He didn't even have the nerve to tell me who he was first, but he did after a second. He asked who I was, so I replied, "Chris. Who is this?" He said he was my father, but it didn't really mean anything to me. I simply told him to hold on, while I retrieved my mother. She asked who it was on the phone, and all I could say was, "He says he's my father." Very nonchalant, very emotionless.

I guess it all comes to mind right now because it's Thanksgiving. Well, at least tomorrow it is. I know some say it's a time to be thankful for all of our blessings and for all that we have, even when it's not much. I don't miss him, but I think that in the back of my mind somewhere, behind all my worries, behind all my stress, behind all my dirty thoughts, maybe somewhere in there, I wonder what he looks like now. Still I tell myself, I don't want to see him.

Funny thing is, my younger brother reconnected with him a few years back, and I still had no interest in asking about him. But maybe there was just a hint of curiosity there somewhere, and I just hated to admit it. My brother says he's not doing so well, healthwise. I don't feel guilty. I did nothing wrong. But I also didn't do anything to help, and that's where I have to wonder if that makes me a bad person, for seeming uncaring.

It's always been my mother who was there for me, who raised me, and who believed in me. She is the one I owe everything to. Sure, she remarried for a while, but it was still my mother who looked out for my best interests. And although, I've always reminded her, and I'm sure she's always known...I'm going to let her know tomorrow, Thanksgiving day, how much I appreciate her for being the most important role in my life. Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope that tomorrow everyone can take just a minute or two to appreciate what they have, and let someone know that what you have, is something you will always treasure. It's always nice for someone to hear it.