Summertime Sadness?

Hi, it’s me. John Castillo here, blogging in the year 2023. That makes this blog 15 years old. A lot has happened since its inception. Things are weird. Life’s going to change a little bit for me in the next 24 hours. You see, I am going to meet my first son for the first time. He is ten years old, and it will be his first time meeting his dad, or biological father, or whatever the case. I’m not going to lie- it’s going to be scary as hell. It is- scary as hell. But it’s important. It has to happen for me, for him, for all of his half siblings.

I don’t know what’s expected of me as a sperm donor. Do I have to be a father figure? I think every child deserves to have a good dad in their life, and it’s up to each father to do well, to think rationally, given that really any fertile male has the ability to procreate, for whatever reason, on a grander scale than a woman can, given the reproductive capacity and differences between each sex.

I don’t know if I made the best decision when I became a donor, because I was only twenty years old. I wasn’t too aware of what the industry was like and all that could happen with what I did. 13 years and 15 offspring later, I am beginning to rethink that. I am not legally bound to financially or emotionally care for the children I have genetically fathered. I don’t think anyone can. I think there should have been more limits place, more education for parents and donors alike. I feel guilty that I can’t be there for all of them, but I feel more guilty for wanting to carve out my own path and identity, apart from being a donor. But I was and I am. And what’s more, I am their biological dad. I hear stories everyday, from women who struggled to take care of their child or children because of the dad. I don’t want to end up like those dads, but inevitably, I am one. On a superficial level, I know it’s different: I’m not supposed to take care of them. I didn’t make anyone any promises. I’m nobody’s legal guardian. But I am somebody’s parent, genetically. There is some responsibility I have. A lot of thoughts pop up in my head, and I feel a lot of pressure sometimes.

The reality is, I really am only one person. I don’t know how I am supposed to feel about anything, about any of this. The reality is, there really is no right way of doing things. Even with one’s own religion- the most extreme fundamentalist sects there are disputes in regards to- not what is allowed or forbidden- but the right way to do good. There are too many intricacies and certain exceptions or ways of carrying out rules. And I mean really, people are just people. I don’t think I’ve ever met the perfect person because I don’t think I’ve ever met a perfect person. What does that even mean? If I were to meet someone who had all the money in the world, would they not be evil, since the rest of us will have nothing, and be expected to survive? At best I can only do good, and I can only try and do the right thing. I don’t know what it means. I am not a King, a Prince, an Angel, an anything. I am not famous, I am not a god, I am not grandiose, I am not mythical. I’m a sack of calcium, skin and organs. That thinks from time to time, and who makes errors constantly.

I want them to love me, approve of me, and not sneer at me. Granted there are days where I rather be left alone. Is he my son? He is, but what if he doesn’t need me?

Alas I do not know, but I know I shall try to type something up over the weekend. Life is tough and then you die. But Saba was right about there not being a right way of doing this. I’m going to mess up. Chances are, knowing who I am, I’m pretty sure I am going to be myself. Sometimes some of us are so quiet because we’re too afraid to speak our minds and be ourselves.

Thank you Jesus for saving me with your precious blood.

Love,

John