My biological father and I lost touch for several years for various reasons. My son was about nine when bio dad and I reconnected. I knew he'd kill me if he ever found out he had a grandson and I had not told him, so it was time for new introductions. We were all waiting for bio dad to show up at my dad's house.(My adopted dad ... I know it's gets confusing, but try and hold on here with me. How do you think I feel?) Daddy kept us entertained with his ever colorful stories of his everyday life.
He and a woman were driving - in separate cars - on one of the gazillion of freeway miles somewhere between Dallas and Fort Worth. And, although my 80-something father liked to drive no less than 80 miles an hour, that speed was too slow for her. She finally passed him, sailed by, showing him her middle finger held high. The bird. The big 'ef off. Daddy smiled at her, laughed to himself, then decided she must have really liked him because "she was telling me I was number 1." My son lay on the floor, at the feet of one beloved grandfather, waiting to meet a new grandfather and had himself a fierce giggle when he saw his grandpa give the bird sign.
The doorbell rang as soon as the story was over. (My dad had great timing.) He answered the door and greeted my bio dad (they had met several times years before). Bio dad walks in and Daddy says, "Hi there, how have you been? I'd like you to meet our grandson, Zach." Bio dad bends down to shake hands with my well-mannered 9-year-old and tells him how nice it is to meet him. Rather than a handshake, bio dad is greeted with an upheld middle finger. "Hi. It's nice to meet you, too. You're number one."
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