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Selfish L. was the meanest most selfish dad I have never met. I met his grandchild who explained his almost always loving father, Little A’s sorry story to me.  Little A, a loving man, rarely spoke of his sorrowful past. But on his death week, he shared this story with his son, my friend.
Little A was twenty-two months old when his mother passed. His conniving selfish, understated devil of a father, Selfish L, was a pig farmer. At the funeral, Selfish L. was inundated with offers from aunties, and grandma’s. Everyone wanted to adopt and raise this Rubenesque cherub with the gold highlighted Bambi-colored curls, and the enormously trusting beautiful brown eyes.  Little A was a friendly child, going easily from lap to lap, loving everyone, as his mother had, before she fell into the clutches of  mean, perpetually angry Selfish L, who barely made enough of a living to support one, let alone an eating child.  

A day after his mother’s funeral, Little A. was taken by his daddy to H.I.G.Lands Orphanage where he was handed over to another mean, angry, non-nurturing person, Mr. Edna. Some said Mr. Edna was a woman; no one knew for sure; he was not a giving person, rarely smiled, and made life hard.  He gave the care of Little A. over to some of the casual in-and-out women, having no use for a twenty-two month old.  In the next few years six different visiting families met Little A. on family visitors’ day and drove to Selfish L’s house to beg him to sign relinquish papers, so that lonely Little A. could have a loving family.

Selfish L. quoted the Bible, said it was God’s will, he was his blood, a bunch of other malarkey, and chased them away, having big plans for the boy when he was old enough to help with pig farming.  After all, he was his son, God gave him to Selfish L, right?  Blood is thicker than water. Selfish L. knew this was in the Bible somewhere. If it was not, it should be.  So Little A. became medium A, and then Big A, and then Big-Eater A. Mr. Edna was still around making people miserable. One day he telephoned Selfish L. to tell him it was time to come get his fourteen-year-old son, Big-Eater A.

The drive home, which was a mere thirteen and a half miles was done in silence. B.E. A. did not remember this man who said he was his father. He had no memory of the house, or his mother. There was not a single photo of any person in the house, only Bible verses and warnings about going to hell if you did not listen to your father.  Father was spelled with a capital. B.E. A. worked on the pig farm with Selfish L. for four years, then he ran away to the armed services, fitting in well in institutionalized life, as this was all he had ever known. It seemed like family to him. It was years later before he united with his grandmother and aunties, and learned about the love of his mother, and all the families who wanted to adopt him. Until he was in his twenties, he had always thought something was “horribly wrong with him”, to be rejected so many times, watching other children become adopted on weekends.
Selfish L. was the meanest most selfish dad I have never met.
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