We are in my hometown, visiting family, and we are in, of all places, a Wal-Mart. Since I moved away, Wal-Mart has kidnapped this small town and if you need anything other than groceries, like a toilet seat, which is why we are venturing into the mouth of the beast, this is the only place to go in a hundred-mile radius.

As we are walking around this monstrosity, looking for the plumbing section, my daughter runs in the opposite direction, and I become separated from my mom and husband, who are on a mission. So many feelings emerge when visiting this town; it is a sad place, a poverty-stricken spot on the map. I often run into people I went to high school with, those who were unable to get out of its grasp.

My daughter and I are wandering around, looking for our family, and I am feeling exasperated, ready to get out of here—now! Then my husband pops out of nowhere and deliriously says, "Your dad is here!" My mind goes blank. I am unable to translate his words into a sentence. Then the realization of what he is saying sinks in. I have never actually met my biological father, even though he lived most of his life in this town during my growing up years. My parents were in high school when I was born, and they did not stay together.

So here I am. Without any warning, I finally get my chance to meet him. I am feeling tipsy anyway from the overhead lights, the smell of toxic plastic, and the pressure not to lose my daughter. My husband starts to walk me in his direction and my heart begins to flop around inside my chest. Time has begun to crawl. I barely exist. I feel like I am stuck in a bad Lifetime Television movie. At first, my husband cannot find him again and am partially hoping my father has disappeared. However, as we turn a corner—there he is. I walk by him on the other side of a tower of chemical crap. I stare and think; I am holding onto his granddaughter's hand and he does not even know who we are—what we could have been to him.

There were moments in my childhood when we were in the same place at the same time. Once my mom and I were at the lake and he was there—what seemed an eternity down the beach from us as I stared into the sun, looking, questioning. I remember feeling as if he held some sort of mystery—answers to my red-hair, my hot temper. He ran toward us to chase a Frisbee, and I saw the back of his balding head, but that is all.

I heard from my grandmother, who occasionally saw my father's mom around town, that he was living three hours away when I graduated from high school. She said that he sped to see me get my diploma, but I have no idea if that actually happened or if he was there. I did receive a graduation gift from him. He gave me an electronic spell checker and in the card, he had written, "I heard you write peotry." (Yes, with poetry ironically misspelled.) How he knew I had already began to write, I do not know. On other occasions such as Christmas, he (or his mom) would leave Christmas gifts on my maternal grandparent's doorstep. I still have a stuffed bear with red pajamas and a red cap stuffed in a box somewhere.

I never tried to contact him, and he never tried to see me. Maybe he peripherally kept track of me—saw me here and there. I never knew it if he did. I never felt like I needed to know him. My grandparents partially raised me, I had the love of my grandfather who taught me so much about kindness and politics, and I eventually had a stepdad who was often my biggest advocate during many of my feverish, adolescent growing pains. Also, I am not quite as brazen in my interpersonal relationships as I may seem in print. I am shy and skittish when it comes to people.

As I walk by my father in Wal-Mart and really see him for the first time—I look him straight in the face and I have an epiphany. I really do. And not a Celine Dion playing in the background type of epiphany either, but a real, guttural reaction to his face. I always thought he would be creepy and weird. I am not sure how I got this idea. However, when I see the slope of his nose, his deep-set eyes, his prominent jaw, I have the same feeling that I had when I saw my daughter for the first time and all I can think is, "I've known you all my life." I want so much to walk up and just lean into him. Although this is so not something, I would ever normally do to anyone. I want to have the power to stop time and move in close to him. To see, smell, touch him without any expectation or response from either of us.

Instead, I keep walking. My heart will not stop crashing around inside my chest. I am sure he knows what is going on. In fact, he does. He has seen my mom. When I circle back around, he has vanished. After my first glance, I am now terrified I will not see him again. My husband says, "You should go meet him." He offers to go up and introduce himself. I stare blankly at my husband and all that comes to mind is: "I cannot meet my dad for the first time in Wal-Mart. I do not even believe in Wal-Mart. This cannot happen." I am half expecting Oprah to jump out and yell, "Surprise!"

My mom and my husband take our daughter to pay and I take off, searching every aisle. Panicking and crazed, I think, "What if he sees me frantically looking for him." But I do not care. I am desperate to see him again—to get another glimpse. However, he is gone. I feel so very sad—unexplainably sad. I felt like a little kid lost in a giant store but this time no one is looking for me but in fact running from me.

I think having a child has really changed how I feel about my biology. Autumn is so much every inch us. She has my quick emotional reactions and her dad's knack for turning a phrase and making me laugh. Her face is a blend of our mannerisms and quirky expressions. I cannot imagine her not having either of us in her life. I never thought I would feel a connection with my dad if I ever saw him—but I did. My husband later said, "You guys have the exact same jaw line. I could see you in his face." It was true. It is strange to think he is out there, living his life without me.

What I truly wanted growing up is what my daughter has. I wanted the cliché father/daughter relationship. I wanted to wrestle, snuggle, and ride on his shoulders. As a teenager, I wanted to be able to still sit on my dad's lap and feel too old to be doing it, but doing it anyway. I wanted to write mushy birthday cards and make phone calls from college. However, it is too late for all that.

My husband comes to find me to find me as I search. He jokingly offers to "kick his ass" for me. I know he can feel my mixed feelings and disappointment as I try to joke back and fail. I cannot hide it. I keep thinking. What do I do from here? Do I just let it go? Dizzy but wanting more, I put one foot in front of the other. This is exactly why my husband and I have worked so hard to put our daughter first. As we walk out of the store, I slip my hand inside my daughter's hand and vow for the zillionth time to be present for her always, with every ounce of my being, no matter what.