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A month or so later I went home for my yearly summer visit. My sister who lived in Baltimore usually came the same time every summer with her husband and two kids. I was actually catching a ride with an old family friend. A priest named father Jorge that we knew when we were growing up on the North Shore of Long Island. My whole family had gotten to know him but it was my brother and I who first befriended him when we worked at this huge retreat house that Father worked at when we were in High School. It was an incredible place to work at as it was essentially this huge mansion that sat on a spectacular piece of property that overlooked the water that led out to Long Island Sound. The mansion sat on one hundred pristine waterfront acres in the middle of one of the most beautiful parts on all of Long Island. Besides the natural, unspoiled beauty, the retreat house as a place of employment allowed me to stay away from home for the entire weekend as I worked in the kitchen and dining room for their weekend retreats. What this translated to specifically was the ability to have no curfew on Friday or Saturday nights because although we stayed at the huge house in our own rooms after work, basically nobody asked where we went or what we were doing. The house and property were so large that we could wander off to the beach or play tennis or go to the game room and play pool or ping pong. We in fact often left the property to go elsewhere if we felt like it. The priests had their own wing and basically kept to themselves after hours so as long as we kept out of sight and sound we basically could get away with doing whatever we wanted whenever we wanted to do it. We'd often sneak into the room where they kept the altar wine and steal bottles to go and drink down at the beach where we'd build fires to keep us warm on cool nights. The most amazing thing about the situation at the retreat house was that all of our parents thought we were such good boys because we worked so hard and were with such holy and good people! Little did they know that we had our own private world where there were no silly adults to tell us what to do. Priests are neither adults or children - they are in a weird world in between - a connection between the hell here on earth and the heaven we all want to believe in after the unfortunate transition from the naïve fantasy world of childhood. The most amazing thing about working at the retreat house was that at the end of every weekend we'd get paid and leave knowing that at the end of another week at school and at home we'd be able to come back and do it all again! Father Jorge Gonzalez didn't seem like a priest. He never preached at you and never made you feel like you had to believe in God as much as he did and go through the catholic rituals like he did. I found so much of Catholicism to be too constraining. I certainly didn't believe in the church's views on many major issues like birth control and divorce, not to mention their view on sexuality which seemed nothing more to me than antiquated prejudices that should have been edited out of the bible a long time ago. I knew Father Jorge also didn't agree with some of the church's more conservative viewpoints but as he said, he
chose to try and change the church from within rather than from the
outside. He in fact believed that it was more important for him to stay
a priest because he had differing view points than the powers that be
so that one day perhaps the powers that would be in the Vatican would
adopt views that today seemed sacrilege to the church. JORGE: Bogotá, Columbia. That's the capitol city. So I come from a city. Not the country. I've lived in New York City most of my life. ME: When did you move to New York? JORGE: In fifty eight. Fifty seven. ME: And how old were you when you moved to New York? JORGE: Nine. ME: Okay. JORGE: Nine something like that. And what else? My whole education was here in the states. ME: You didn't go to school before you moved up here? JORGE: I started school. But I didn't really, you know. ME: Oh, you didn't really go regularly? JORGE: I went for about a year and a half. But I was just starting school when I had to change schools again. So. What else? ME: Tell me more about your Mom. You told me you didn't see her for a while. Who did you live with when you were born? How did that happen? JORGE:
Well, for the first four years, uh, I was with my mom. And then when
I was four my mom left. She got a job to come up here to finish her
education as a nurse in the operating room. She was a nurse by profession
in those days. And so she came up to ME: So from four to nine. JORGE: Right ME: What school did your mother go to? JORGE: The hospital she went to doesn't exist anymore. But it was called Saint Francis in Queens. ME: Okay. Then what is the deal with your dad? Did you ever know him? JORGE: No. I met him. But unknowingly. I met him once. When I was about - what? When I was about three years old. ME: What do you mean, unknowingly? JORGE: I didn't know who he was. Because I don't have any recollection of what he looks like or what kind of person he was or anything. Because we never lived with him. ME: What do you mean you didn't know? Was your mother there when you met him? JORGE: No. ME: This was when she was still living in Columbia? JORGE: Yeah. This guy came to the house where we were living. And he came in and he asked - ME: Where you were living with your mother? JORGE: Yeah, and he came in and he asked - he was asking for some stuff. My mom had some clothes. Some man's clothes. ME: So. So some guy came to your house when your mother wasn't there to - JORGE: And asked for some clothes ME: Look for some of his belongings. JORGE: Alright. And I didn't. You know, ask him, who he was. I didn't know. ME: So who was there with you? JORGE: Nobody. ME: That's - you actually remember that? JORGE: Yeah. ME: Really? That must be one of your first memories, though, right? JORGE: No. I have more. The first, I remember when we went from, an aunt of ours, I was maybe two years old, around then, I went with an aunt of mine to where my father's family comes from. The town outside of Bogotá about seventeen miles north of Bogotá where my father's people come from. I remember that. ME: Alright. But getting back to disappearing daddy. He never introduced himself. JORGE: No. Not that I remember. I don't remember. ME: But he must have known who you were though, right? JORGE: I guess so. So I don't know you know. I just remember that he came in, he asked me for the stuff and I took him to the room where it was and I was standing up and I fell down because I was standing on the back of the bed, you know, the board - ME: Right JORGE:…the head board and the door knob. I was standing with one foot on the door knob and one foot on the bed to open something, I forgot what I was doing. ME: Right. JORGE: And I fell and I hurt, I hit my head. And probably that is why I remember, only because I fell, that this guy came and asked me for this stuff and then we went to do it and this is what happened. ME: What did you tell your mother? JORGE: When she came I told her some man came in and I don't remember what. I think she wasn't too happy about it. But she didn't say anything more. ME: She never said : Oh, that was your father? JORGE: No. ME: But how did you find out it was him? JORGE: Oh, later, I don't remember when, she told me it was him, that was him and I only remembered because I remembered hitting my head. ME: Weird. JORGE: I know. ME; Did they ever get married? JORGE: Who? ME: Your mother and father. JORGE: Yeah. I believe so. I'm not sure. My mom doesn't talk about these things. My mom, as far as I know - they separated and never got together again, shortly after I was born. ME: Right after you were born basically. JORGE: Not right but shortly. Maybe I was a year old by the time they separated or something like that. ME: So he may have been around for a while but you were too young to remember? JORGE: Yeah. ME: Well, she's never ever really talked to you about it? JORGE: No. But what I know, the little, little I know about him was a friend of hers that told me a little bit about him and her. That's why I know they separated. So they had to be married. ME: You mean a friend of hers when you were still living in Columbia? JORGE: No. Here. A lady. A friend of ours that used to know my mother in Columbia. She came to live here in the states, also. Back in the sixties, the early part of the sixties. She and my mother used to be good friends. And they used to, you know. She used to come over on the holidays. Or once in a while on weekends, like for Sundays or something like that. She used to come over to our house and uh, and once in a while she talked to me a little bit, just a very little, she talked about my father. ME: When your mother wasn't there? JORGE: Right. And my mother one time for some reason, I think I asked her something about it and she said, where did you hear that from and I told her and she got mad with this lady and the friendship was lost after that. ME: The friendship was lost just because of that? JORGE: Yeah ME: Did the lady bring it up or did you ask the lady? Were you curious and that's why you talked to the lady - or JORGE: I think I asked something about that. Yeah. I don't remember exactly how it went but I believe I asked her, did she know my father and what she could tell me. And she told me very little. She said you should ask your mother. ME: How old were you at that point, in general? JORGE: Well, between ten and fifteen. ME: Hmmm JORGE: So, shortly after I came up here. ME: Why do you think your mother is so hostile ? Why is she so incapable of talking about it? JORGE: I'm not so sure. Other than, I think, well, she broke ties with everybody down there. I mean, uh, from the time she left till the present she never talks about anybody. None of her family - her immediate family. Her - she had four brothers who were older than her. ME: Right JORGE: She never talks about them. So I don't know them. ME: She never kept in touch with any of them either? JORGE: No. ME: What about her parents? Were they still alive when you moved up here? JORGE: JORGE: No. ME: No? I think I remember before you telling me she was an orphan. JORGE: All my, both my grandparents died. My father's parents died when I was about a year old. Two years old. As I was told. ME: Oh. So even if you wanted to keep in touch with them - wait a minute - as you were told JORGE: Yeah. My mom's parents, my mother's mother died shortly after my mother was born and her father died when she was twelve or thirteen years old. So she went to live - an aunt was taking care of her, with her father. But when he died, the aunt and my mother moved away from my grandfather's house and that's it. ME: But you were told - when were you told that your father's parents died, how old were you? JORGE: This lady that I was telling you about - she's the one that told me that. ME: Oh. Because I was thinking that maybe that your mother made that up. JORGE: No. ME: No. JORGE: This lady, friend of my mother - I don't even remember her name. ME: But your mother didn't even keep in touch with her brothers? JORGE: No. She cut all ties once she left the country. ME: When she came up here to study she cut all ties. She doesn't even want to go back and visit or anything? JORGE: No. ME: It's kind of like there is no background. How many times have you been down there? JORGE: I haven't been down there yet. ME: Wait a minute - I thought you went to Columbia. JORGE: I wanted to go but I haven't gone. ME: I remember you talking about wanting to go but I thought you actually did go. JORGE: No. The two or three times I was ready to go down there other things happened before so I couldn't make the trip. ME: Well, besides the obvious reasons, why do you want to go down there? JORGE: I just want to visit my country. You know, not necessarily to look up my relatives because I really have no connection with them emotionally. Even physically. I don't have any connections with them. So I don't really know them. They will be strangers. Meeting people I never knew before. But if that happened, by this time, I presume, at least my mother's brothers, they're all dead most likely. So their children, who knows where they are? ME: But your father might still be alive? JORGE: He might be. I don't know. I can't tell. I mean, that's the other thing, that I was told. He died. But I don't think so. I know he was still alive when I was nine years old because he had to give permission for me to leave the country. I couldn't leave the country without him signing a permission form. ME: When did you find that out? From your mother's friend? JORGE: No. I found that out because I had a copy of the paper, the certificate he had to sign. It was a legal document. ME: Who gave that to you? JORGE: I took it from my mother. Because when I came up here with the passport and all that, all that had to be in the same, uh ME: Oh, you took from her JORGE: Not exactly. I got it in my passport with my papers. ME: Hmm: Was you father relatively the same age as your mother? JORGE: I can't tell. Probably. I don't think he was too much older than her. I don't think so. ME: Well, if you went down there would you have any interest in talking with him - or it really doesn't matter. JORGE: I guess. Part of me says yeah it would kind of be interesting in finding, maybe not him, but something, because who know if he is still alive or not. But finding some connection with the family, be it him or anybody else that belongs to the family, either on my mother's side or my father's side. You know, it would be nice to have that connection, to be able to fill in that part of my life. ME: The part of your life that was never there. JORGE: That has no meaning for me. You know, that's part of the puzzle that's missing. One part of the puzzle that's missing. I mean, if I talk about family I usually talk about my friends here in the States. They're more like family. Like yourself , Peter, you're more like family then my blood family. ME: Well, you never had any except for your mother. JORGE: That's what I'm saying. So for me I guess it would be nice. I'd be interested in finding my own and see what kind of people they are and see if I could get some background on the family. At least to know more about it. I have very little names and stuff like that. ME: Did you think about this stuff when you were younger? JORGE: At times. Not all the time that I remember. There were times that I did wish, I wondered how it was, uh, who my father was, what kind of person, what he was doing, what kind of work he did, did he, what do you call it? Did he remarry or live with someone else ? How many children he had? Did he have more children? Because with my Mom he only had myself. The only child. I did wonder about it. But it wasn't something that occupied my attention. ME: Right. It was sort of just your subconscious in a way. JORGE: Sometimes. ME: But did you ever try to talk with your mother about it? I forget if I tried to ask you that question or not. JORGE: Uh, a couple of times I tried to bring up the topic when I was younger. The last time I tried to bring something up about that, to try and bring something up about my family background, was maybe about ten years ago. ME: Right. JORGE: The answer was the same. What did you need to know about that for? Don't worry about it. You know, she just didn't want to talk about it. I guess something tragic might have happened to her at that time in her life. I don't know. See, not knowing exactly what happened you can't - ME: How can you know? JORGE: I can only speculate what might have happened. It could have been that she had a very negative experience with my father. With her brothers. And that's why she broke all ties with them. Uh, it's hard to say. It could be one or the other or neither or both. ME: Yeah But don't you think it's strange that she would ask you why it would matter to you? Don't you think it's normal for you to want to know that? JORGE: I think it's normal for anyone to want to know about their family. About their relatives. But she doesn't. She doesn't seem to feel that. She, she always felt that she had to be independent, you know, that she had to be a string person and that's part of her character. That she's always felt that way and she always saw it that way. That she had to be the head of the house. She had to be the one even though the ten years I lived wih her - the ten years from when I came to America to when I left the house she worked and I was the one that took care of the house, as far as pay the bills if something broke ort something needed fixing, I was the manager. I was the one that took care of any part of anything that had to do with the house. Cooking. Cleaning. Everything like that. And I think that's one of the things I think that was hard for her too - to accept when I left because all that I was doing that now she had to do. That now she had to take care of. Manage the house. ME: You said you brought up your dad about ten years ago. JORGE: Right. ME: How old are you now? JORGE: I just turned fifty a couple of years ago. ME: Oh. So your premonition is not true because you are still alive. JORGE: Which premonition? ME: You told me once that you thought you would die before fifty. JORGE: Oh yeah, that's what I thought. ME: I never remember people's birthdays - so happy birthday for the past fifty years! JORGE: Thanks a lot! ME: So anyway, when you were about forty you asked your Mother about your father after not having brought it up for a while. Is that because at that age you started to think about it more? JORGE: No. I just figured I would, not because I thought about it any more. But at that time, I felt when I did ask her, I felt, well, maybe now that I am older, I haven't talked to her about it in a long time, and she's older, maybe she'll be willing to talk about it more freely without having any problems. But she was still the same and probably always will be. ME: So, you were more ready to talk to her about it because you thought she would be more ready. JORGE: Uh huh. ME: The
only reason why I ask is because I'm not sure why, like, certain themes
or patterns of people I am talking to about this issue of disappearing
fathers, but a few JORGE: No ME: But people seem to be thinking that when you get older JORGE: More middle aged ME: Thirties, forties, it becomes more clear and you are able to think about it. JORGE: You might think about it in a sense. Especially in a case like myself, you don't know anything about your background. I think the majority of people that have a disappearing parent, they know something about them. There is some connection with their story. In my case I have none. ME: Some connections with the stories? JORGE: Of who they were or ME: I don't know about that. So far the majority of the people I have talked to so far don't know their full story. You're unusual because you had no other family, period. But I don't think most people who've had a parent disappear have any connection. They have no real connection at all. And the only connection they have is, is after they grow up enough, they try to discuss it. Before that there was never any real discussion al all whatsoever. JORGE: But I think maybe more in some cases. ME: Okay. JORGE: Maybe not in the majority but in some cases they heard stories about the father. What kind of person he was, that he, let's say for example, was a drunkard, you know, he used to drink a lot and that was part of why we separated or that was why we moved out ME: I'm not trying to disagree with you but so far, in my very limited exploration of this, the few people I've talked to so far told me that they've never heard JORGE: Yes ME: Any stories and the mother never talked to them at all. JORGE: It is tough. ME: You know why? Because it also seems that when the father disappears his whole family goes with him. It's not just the father who disappears because after he disappears it's not like his parents stay around or his brother's or any of his family stay around. They all seem to go completely and that whole side of the family is gone because the man walked out. JORGE: Yes ME: And it's never discussed and the only way it's discussed is if the kids bring it up and a lot of times the kids don't bring it up. So don't feel like it's that unusual, for you now. I mean, take it from me, personally, from my experience, you know my whole family. There was never, ever any discussion about my father leaving. JORGE: I've never heard about it. ME: It's similar with you. The sad thing about your situation is you didn't have other relatives as you got older, to talk about your family. At least with me I have my mother's side of the family. JORGE: Right. ME: You have no one to talk about it with. JORGE: And my mother still won't talk about it. ME: I mean, maybe your father is a nice guy. Maybe he was an asshole. I don't know. JORGE: But like I said before, I can't say what happened. But something happened. Something definitely happened between her and my father and her and her family for her to totally disown them, to totally break all ties, that she doesn't want to be connected at all. ME: It wasn't just your father. JORGE: She has her father's last name but she doesn't have my father's name. ME: Did she ever have your father's name? JORGE: I can't say. I don't know. All the documents that I've seen, that I have been able to look at, don't mention my father's name. ME: No. JORGE: Maybe they were never really married. Other than my baptism certificate and that one says legitimate father. ME: Your last name is your mother's name? JORGE: No, my father's. ME: Oh, so you did actually get your father's name when you were born? So your not an illegitimate bastard then? JORGE: No. ME: So he did recognize you then. JORGE: I guess. ME: At least for a few months. Then when he got a good look at you he ran out the door. JORGE: Thanks. ME: That's what drove you to God. JORGE: Did it? ME: Yeah, it's like, hey God, why do I need that asshole when I can have you? I mean, who can pull more strings. Little wimpy men down here or someone upstairs who can really network for you. JORGE: Is that it? ME: Why do we even give a shit though, about them? JORGE: Who? ME: Them. The father's. The one's that run away. Why do we still care after all these years? It shouldn't seem to matter after a while. I mean, what's the big deal? JORGE: It's one of those things that you think about whether you want to or not. ME: Why is that Father, and I do mean FATHER JORGE? Why is that? JORGE: Don't ask me. I'm not the expert. ME: If you're not no one is. But then again you only care because you hit yourself on the head when you were a kid. You hit yourself on the head so bad it makes you remember the guy. The guy that came to pick up his things in the closet. Me, I'm still in the closet looking for the stuff. Man, I wish someone would hit me on the head. Maybe it would spark a memory or two. JORGE: Here - let me help you. ME: Oh - no, I'm not ready for the smack yet. JORGE: What's taking you so long to get ready?. ME: Oh, I don't know. I'm afraid it I get hit in the head hard enough I might come to my senses and that is not a good idea. JORGE: Why not? ME: Jesus Jorge, look at you. I wouldn't want to start believing in God or anything. JORGE: You wouldn't. ME: Of course not. If I did I might actually have to look at what I do myself too hard. JORGE: It all starts in there though. You have to work on the outside, in the real world. But none of it matters if you don't change all that stuff inside, you know what I mean? ME: Okay. Hit me. I ready for the blow to the head now. JORGE: Get over here, I'm gonna hit you. ME: Take me lord. Take me now! JORGE: Are you making fun of me? ME: Me, I would never insult a man of the cloth. JORGE: You better watch out. God's gonna smack you when you're not looking. ME: Yeah, if he can find me. JORGE: Oh, he knows where you are alright. Don't you worry about that. Father Jorge dropped me off after I interviewed him and went to the retreat house that his religious order still owned. When he pulled away I looked for a moment at the house I grew up in and I felt for a moment how unfamiliar it had become. I felt like I was a stranger in a town I was just passing through or that I was a traveler in a country I had just gotten to and never visited before. I kept thinking of the words that David Bryne sang in a song "This is not my beautiful house. How did I get here?"
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