When I was born I was given the name of Ronald Lee Paul by my Mother. Once upon a time I liked my name. People would say that I had two first names. Cool I thought. My father lived in a metal box that my mother would break out from time to time. Inside the box were important papers that were folded and bound with rubber bands and some pictures. One of the pictures was a black and white that looked like it came from a Polaroid. A little bit of that instant processing chemical caused some discoloration on one of the corners. My Dad was walking up the beach with a fishing pole and a box. I thought his box looked a lot like the box his picture was kept in. I imagined them to be the same color. Green.
I also had a sister in the box named Karla and sometimes she would come and visit with a friend of my Moms named Sharon. I was told we shared the same father. She had blond hair and green eyes and wore little girl dresses with white socks and tennis shoes and she was happy and jumped up and down a lot. Later we moved away and I would never see Karla anymore. Sometimes I would lay awake at night and wonder about my sister. I wanted to tell her my secrets and I hoped she was okay. Sometimes if I needed someone to talk to I would think about her.
My Mother never would speak about my Father. The subject seemed to be very taboo. I would ask about him but she would brush me off. If I pushed to know more about him she would say that she really didn't remember much. I didn't have any argument for that one. If you can't remember something it's just gone I suppose.
Later I was Married and I had children of my own. My wife would ask me more questions about my father than I ever even asked my Mother. "Did he ever get sick?" She would ask. "Does you Mom know his medical records?" These were legitimate questions for sure as we had children and medical history is important so finally I began to bring the subject up with my Mother again at my wife's insistence.
My Mom had told me one story repeatedly. My Father had moved to Montana. Later it was funny to me. My Father was straight out of a Frank Zappa song. "I might be moving to Montana one day." I thought that was funny as hell. One day I said to my Mom. Where in Montana did my Father move? Charlotte wants to know. We need his Medical history." My Mom began with her loss of memory story and I had enough. "Look if you don't tell me I'm just going to find him on my own. Montana doesn't have that many people living there - I'll find him." I picked up a phone right there in her kitchen and started looking up my Father. I knew his name. His name was Donald Leroy Paul. I was told I was given a name that sounded like his. The operator told me she had a listing, actually there was five Donald Paul's in Montana. I called the first one while my Mother looked on with a terrified look on her face. He wasn't in and I left a message. I got a call back within a few minutes. "Look son, I don't know who you are but I assure you I don't know your Mother and you most certainly are not my son but I do wish you luck." He was kind. My mother looked relieved that I had not found the real Donald Leroy Paul. Finally she said she had some information but she just needed to verify something first and could I please wait.
A few weeks went by and finally she said she had some news for me.
"Donald Leroy Paul is not your Father" she said. For a strange reason I thought again of Karla jumping up and down. I had not thought of her in years. I was twenty nine years old. Your Father is Michael O'Daniels, and I have been speaking to your Fathers brother. "Well where is my Father?" I asked. "Your Father is dead. I am not really sure how he died but I have the number of your father's brother and he can answer these things for you."
What happened next is not important but I later spoke with my Fathers family. My Father was killed by a hitch-hiker while he was driving from San Luis Obispo to Santa Barbara on old Highway 101. The guy had killed some others as well. His name was Patrick Ronald Lee. He took my Fathers money, shot him, and left him in a ditch on the side of the highway. My sister Karla wasn't really my sister either. I was named after the man that my Mom thought and hoped was my father, but he wasn't. He was Karla's father. I found out later that I have half sisters and brothers from my Father living somewhere in Northern California but I've never bothered to meet them. I think losing Karla made me not want to know about any more brothers or sisters. My Fathers ashes were scattered over the sea so there is no grave to visit. My Father's killer later died in Atascadero State Mental Hospital for the criminally Insane. By a strange twist of fate I had his name; Ronald Lee. I changed my name within the year. I don't really know who I am now.
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