The dumbest decision I ever made continues to haunt me.
Twenty-eight years ago, I turned away from a relationship that lasted from 1991 to 1994.  It began during my final year at Stillman College and ended after she graduated from the University of Alabama in 1994. 
One day she called me at work in Biloxi, Mississippi. She planned to study fashion in New York City, but if there was a chance to have a family and get married, she'd take it.
My heart went pitter-patter and it skipped a beat.  My body froze quicker than a snowman at the North Pole.  I was in love with her and wanted nothing more than Everlasting Love. We'd make our own version of Married....With Children.
Deep down, my conscience prevented me from doing so. She'd resent me for not allowing her to go and one day, she'd leave.
By the time she returned to Alabama five years later, I was about to get married. She began dating her eventual husband and father of two girls.
My only marriage ended after 10 years. I have two girls. It's plain and simple: her marriage worked and mine did not. 
In a heavy dose of symbolism, I work in her hometown. I run into her sister and mother I often joke about what could've been. 
I tried to start a second time with another Selma, but her sorority and materialism kept it from going anywhere.
I passed up True Love in the Spring of 1994 and it hasn't been the same since. 

Father's Day has come and gone for 2022.
The third Sunday in June is another day to me. It's been locked in my DNA since the day I entered the world on October 18, 1969. I never had a father or dad, just someone I refer to as a sperm donor. Saying that is being kind to him.
My heart always tightened whenever I saw my friends with their fathers. Whether to pick them up from school or watch them play sports. All of that eluded me.
A glimmer of hope flashed between 1999 and 2008, when the child lived with me. At first, shivers slid down my spine over being a father. As time passed, my heart stalled for moments. We did a lot of great things together. I enjoyed being a dad as my tight muscles loosened. 
We haven't talked in four years, she's now a mother with two kids.  My loose lips drop open in dejection, unable to hide my disappointment from us not talking. 
Symbolism surrounds me. I had a deadbeat dad and I'm being treated like a deadbeat dad.