Names have been changed.

On August 23, 2009, at 3:30 a.m, the phone rang. It was my baby moms, Sophie, going to the ER. I thought, “Holy sh*t, I’m having a baby girl.” I went to the bathroom and looked at the mirror and said, “It’s time.” I lit my blunt as I was getting dressed and made a sandwich. Then I ran as fast as I could to the subway.

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Riding from my apartment in the Bronx to the hospital in Manhattan, I thought about my future. It made my head hurt. Two weeks earlier, I’d turned 21 and aged out of care. And Sophie had broken up with me three months earlier. She thought I wasn’t there for her. I didn’t go to all the doctor’s appointments, and I didn’t have money or a job.

I had tried my best to be there for her, but I admit that there were times I didn’t step up and do what I was supposed to do as a man. I went one month without calling her because I was sick of her asking, “Did you get a job yet? Did you get a job yet?”

She also wanted me to stop smoking weed, and I didn’t want to stop. I did smoke around Sophie a lot, but I intended not to smoke around the baby. Sophie used to smoke weed with me sometimes, but she stopped completely when she got pregnant, and she wanted me to stop completely. I also didn’t show up sometimes when I said I would.

Still, I wondered on the subway if Sophie and I might end up back together and live a beautiful life together. I also thought of names I’d give my daughter if it was up to me. The first name I chose was Janet because that was my mother’s name. My mom died on Valentine’s Day when I was 6 years old.

My second choice was Kiara, and my third was Nala because The Lion King is one of my favorite movies. But Sophie and her mother had picked the name Belva even though I didn’t like it. I helped pick her middle name, Sky, and that’s how I thought of her.

My Daughter Is Born

I got to the hospital scared, not knowing what to expect. When I got off the elevator on the maternity floor, I heard females screaming at the top of their lungs. That got me even more scared. But when I found Sophie, she was relaxed and calm.

But then she started feeling pain all over her body. As I watched her go through all this suffering to have my baby, I knew I still loved her and hoped that we would become parents, not enemies.

The doctor told her to push to the count of 10. She was pushing and she wasn’t screaming at all. Again “Push!” and now I was telling her to push as I was trying to look at my daughter come out of her. The doctor said, “The head is coming out right!” After that came the shoulders, then arms, then legs and feet and then the nastiest thing ever—the placenta.

Sophie’s mother and I had this special daddy and grandmother moment when the baby wasn’t breathing or crying. We thought something was wrong, and my heart was pounding for hope until we heard a cry. Then we looked at each other with so much happiness.

They put the baby in the incubator and I stared at her until she opened her beautiful brown eyes and looked at me as if she knew who I was. I looked at her and said, “I’m your daddy.” She immediately grabbed my finger and held it tight like she didn’t want me to go anywhere.

I didn’t grow up with a father. My birth father walked out the week I was born (or maybe he got arrested, I’m not sure). My mom remarried, but my stepfather died around the same time my mom did. I was in foster care since I was 6. I never got adopted, and I lived in a series of group homes. I aged out of care and got an apartment the same month Sky was born. I want to be there for my Sky because I know how it feels to live without a father.

Naming Fights

image by Froylan Garcia

The next day I went back to the hospital to see my baby and sign the birth certificate so I could have visitation rights and joint custody. I asked Sophie, “Is she having my last name?” Sophie said no.

I said, “Then I’m not signing sh*t. I guess this baby is going to grow up without a father.”

I asked Sophie why she wasn’t giving her my last name.

“Because you weren’t there throughout my pregnancy.”

I was getting so mad and she had her mother with her so it was two against one. But I tried to reason with her. I was there for her a lot; I went to doctor’s appointments with her whenever I could. I was getting so mad that I left before I did something or said something wrong that would really hurt her.

The next day I still didn’t sign the birth certificate because the baby was still named Belva Sky Peña. I wanted her to have my last name. It is important to me because I felt like I had no part in decisions about my daughter. And when I die I want to leave another generation of Guzmans. Fifteen minutes later Sophie’s mother came in and said, “Did he sign it?” Sophie said, “No.”

“Well that’s on him. We gave him the chance to be in his daughter’s life,” her mother replied.

I said “What chance did you give me?! I want that baby to have my last name!” My voice came out like a lion roaring. “You can put me on child support, I don’t care! Just give my baby my last name!”

Child support is how the courts force fathers to support their kids. The government would take 17 percent of what I make out of my checks. I’d get visitation rights that a judge works out. It was not the kind of fatherhood I wanted with Sky.

I was in the hallway furious, walking up and down, wondering why the hell I had a baby with this woman. Twenty minutes later a security guard told me, “You gave away your rights as a father, and you have to leave the hospital.” I left with so much anger I wanted to wait for Sophie to come outside so I could slap her, but fortunately she didn’t.

That night Sophie called me and said that she would give the baby my last name. I signed the birth certificate the next day. But still, I had this feeling that I wasn’t really a father, like I just made a baby for Sophie to have for herself. First-time fathers are supposed to feel happy and joyful, but I wasn’t at all—except when I held Sky. The first day I went to go see her, I embraced my baby with so much love and joy that I cried. Sophie thinks I cry too much.

Working to Support Her

During the next month and a half I was in training for a janitor position at a hospital. I got another job at Giants Stadium selling water. I didn’t have that much time. Because of all the time I spent commuting and working, I only saw Sky about six times in September. Sophie was on my case for not coming more often, for money, for a lot of things.

October 8, 2009, was one of the worst days in my life. I called Sophie to see if I could come see Sky. She picked up, said hello, and when she heard my voice she hung up the phone. I got so mad. I called her back five times and it all went straight to voicemail. I was really pissed. I went home and saw that I had a letter saying that I had to come to court for child support.

I immediately dropped on my knees and cried. I couldn’t believe that Sophie would do that knowing my financial status and knowing that I grew up in foster care without parents. I felt less of a man than ever. I was doing so good working and everything, but when that hit me I felt depressed.

image by Froylan Garcia

I went to my house and trashed it like I was a tornado. Sometimes writing calms me down, but I couldn’t think to write so I went to the liquor store and bought a bottle of brandy and went to my room and drank the whole bottle. I rolled up a fat blunt and smoked it. I had never been in a predicament like this before.

Weed’s been a problem for me with Sophie, but so are my emotions. She doesn’t like how much I cry. So when I face something overwhelming, I get high. After I smoke, my emotions are less up and down; they’re more even.

Being high also takes me out of the future and puts me in the present. When Sophie took me for child support, I felt like she was going to rob me every week and not let me see my baby. I felt stressed out and also depressed. I didn’t have a full-time job. Watching other people cashing checks at the check-cashing place, I felt like less of a man. It lowered my self-esteem even more to lose my baby. After I got high, I was just there in my room, not worrying as much. I can handle the present better than the future.

I went to court and Sophie dropped the child support case. But it turned out the only reason she did that was so she could sue for full custody. You can’t bring both cases at once, and she wanted full custody, which meant that she’d make all the decisions for the child. If she felt like taking my daughter to Virginia, she could (and for a short while she did. It broke my heart, but then they came back).

The judge ended up sending us to mediation, where this lady tried to help us resolve our issues and problems and figured out how much I would see Sky and how much money I would pay.

Part-Time Fatherhood

Now that Sophie and Sky are back in New York, I see Sky as much as I can, about once a week. My father was not there for me when I was growing up, so I don’t know, but I bet if he saw me regularly, it would have been easier for me to deal with my problems. That’s why I’m going to be there for my Sky because I want her to feel loved by a father.

I’ve made a lot of changes since my daughter was born. I realized that my temper is like a raging bull, so I’ve been going to a fatherhood class that includes some anger management and some therapy.

Working at the hospital, I can contribute more financially, buy Pampers and baby clothes. My job drug-tests employees and now I only smoke on the weekend. I know that’ll help Sophie trust me more with the baby. It feels like I’ve stepped up to the plate for Sky and hit a base hit. Not a home run, but a single with a little power.

But I miss the weed. It was easier to be happy with Sky when I was high. I cry more when I’m with her and not high because I think about Sophie and me. I look at Sky and think about how Sophie and I made her together. I’m always afraid Sophie will take her away. I brought Sky a T-shirt that said “I love Daddy,” and Sophie never put it on her.

I’ve been trying to keep better communication with Sophie to see how my baby is doing. I love my daughter and I will do anything to make her happy. Even though it’s overwhelming, I have to think about the future for the sake of my daughter. And even though I’m mad at Sophie and sad she broke up with me, we need to get along as parents. I’m trying to show her that I’m reliable, that she can depend on me. Every time I go see her, I bring the baby something to show that I’ve changed as a person and a father.

Fathering Help

In New York City

Strive, Paternity Optimizes Potential Success (POPS) teaches parenting and helps fathers navigate the child support system. Call 212-360-1100.

Nationally

The National Responsible Fatherhood Clearinghouse gives information on things like disciplining a child, long-distance fathering, and saving money.
www.fatherhood.gov