Terra Orndorff

It’s Father’s Day

I’ve been putting this off. Not just for a minute, but for many. And now, on the eve of the day, it feels like it’s finally time to sit down and do the damn thing. Maybe it’s the two lime margaritas. Maybe it’s the R&B: Wiz Khalifa, Lauryn Hill, Kendrick Lamar, with a little Gracie Abrams mixed in. Either way, here we are. At a crossroads where I finally chose release over anger.

Terrance Michael sired me, but he didn’t respect the woman who gave me life. Growing up, Mom told me I was named by our priest in Montana, Father McTegue, after a village in Ireland. I fact-checked it. It’s real. And I prefer that story. It’s better than being named after him.

This isn’t about disrespecting Terrance (Terry). He also fathered my sister, who is one of the greatest joys of my life. I love her endlessly. But our experiences with him were not the same. She had a relationship with him. I didn’t. And I’m not angry about that; I heard enough about what Mom went through to understand.

When I finally met him in my twenties, I saw exactly what Mom and Aunt Linda had always said. Still, I’m grateful he didn’t put my sister through that. He must have loved her deeply. She stayed by his side through dementia, through everything, right to the end.

And that end came just two months after Mom passed. I still don’t know what to make of that. Was she the love of his life? Did he finally let go once she was gone? Or was it something darker; one last act of defiance? Either way, it feels…unsettling.

We didn’t have a relationship. At one point, I had to ask him to get my birth certificate so I could get married. When he called after mailing it, he said, “I didn’t know my name wouldn’t be on it.”

What did you think would happen when you gave up your child to be adopted?

We didn’t speak after that.

But if he were still here, I’d still say: Happy Father’s Day. Thank you for being a father to my sister. Because I love her more than anything.

Floyd William, the man who adopted me… I still struggle to put him into words.

He was a “good” father when I was little. He loved his son, Keith, sometimes out of spite for his ex-wife, but he loved him. And he loved me, too. At least for a while.

When his ex-wife took my brother to California, nothing happened. No real fight, no resolution. Not until years later, after the bond between me and my brother was already gone. I tried to fix it as adults, but it was too late. I still blame Floyd for that.

And then there’s what came after.

Floyd loved me until I didn’t need him anymore. Just like with Keith, his love seemed conditional, dependent on being needed, on being chosen.

When he married Jessie, two years younger than me, I didn’t judge. I married someone much older myself. But the way things unfolded after that… I lost respect. The distance became undeniable.

And the moment everything broke was in the ICU. I called for him. I needed him. He didn’t come.

That’s when I knew: I didn’t have a dad anymore.

Two months later, when my biological father died, I felt it fully, I was an orphan.

So, Floyd William Stephens… Happy Father’s Day. Truly. I’m grateful for the father you were when I was small. I’m grateful for what your absence taught me, too; how to stand on my own.

But I won’t pretend you didn’t leave me when I needed you most. I won’t pretend your love wasn’t conditional.

Thank you. For showing me exactly what kind of parent I never want to be.

Richard.

I have no respect for the man who disrespected my mother for years. Who cheated. Who printed out his betrayal and left it where I would find it.

I never told her. I couldn’t carry that responsibility. But she knew.

I saw it in the hospital, when she stopped asking me to take care of you if something happened to her. When she finally said, “I don’t care what you do with the house.”

That wasn’t anger. That was clarity.

You showed up twice while she was dying. Twice. And even then, it was performance, not presence.

You weren’t there when she needed you. You weren’t there for her on her good days. You certainly weren’t there on her bad ones. You weren’t there for dignity, or loyalty, or love.

And then there was her dog. Sweet Kayle. Faithful to the very end. Waiting for her. Holding on until she was gone.

You could’ve learned something from him.

So no. I won’t soften this. I won’t be polite anymore. You don’t get that from me.

Roger.

Now this is different.

You and Mom didn’t work as a couple. That happens. But what you did build: respect, friendship, loyalty. That matters more than a title.

You stood by her. You stood by me, even when I was difficult, stubborn, and downright disrespectful. And I was.

But I always knew one thing: if I fell backward, you would catch me.

That kind of love doesn’t disappear just because a marriage ends.

I know when Mom died, you lost her too.

And I know if I needed you today, you’d still be there.

Thank you for being my dad in all the ways that mattered.

Farley Scott.

Thank you for being the father I wish I had seen growing up. Thank you for loving our kids fully, without conditions, without ego.

It may seem like the bare minimum, but it’s not. Not in my experience.

We didn’t do everything perfectly. But we did it together. And look at what came from that. Kids who are loved, whole, and building lives filled with connection and care.

That matters.

So to the men who let me down: I’m done carrying it.

I’m choosing something different now. Something lighter. Something better.

Because life is too short, and I have grandkids, dogs, and love in my life that deserves my energy.

To those who showed up: thank you.

To those who didn’t: I release you.

And to all of it, finally, I say what I needed to say.