One day, the lady for whom I babysat asked me, “Do you know your father?” This sentence was like a bolt from the blue. I didn’t think that I even had a father. For a long time I hadn’t any doubt that I was born without a father. My mother always said, “I found you abandoned under a big pine tree at the shrine. I couldn’t just leave you there, so I picked you up and decided to raise you as my own.” I had never doubted her. Imagine my surprise when the woman explained, “Your father is Mr. A, the man who comes by every day carrying his lunchbox on his way to the town office.” This was a very dreamlike and unbelievable story. However, after I had collected myself, my heart became filled with sincere joy.

“I was bullied daily for being a poor, fatherless wretch, only to find that I did have a father. My days of being fatherless were over…” Anxious to tell mother the good news, I ran home that night, skipping dinner. Just then, my mother looked up from the stone mill she was working, blinking with surprise at the sight of her daughter with the brightly flushed face, returning home so much earlier than expected.

“Mother. I have a father! Why didn’t you tell me the truth about my splendid, rich gentleman of a father?” She replied, “If you have to blame me, I am really sorry. Today, I will tell you the truth for the first time because you’ve turned nine.” After a big sigh, she confessed the true story of our circumstances. She began, “In spite of what others may have told you, it is better to consider yourself to have no one to call ‘father’.” I watched until she finished speaking, the tears welling up and spilling from her eyes. I stared at her whitened hair.