I never knew who my father was.

When I was a little girl, I’d look at any man who had features like me and wonder if they were the one who created me and discarded me one and the same.

Sometimes my mother would catch my little pause in steps, my mind working much faster than my feet, and grab my hand making us rush past the mystery man of the week.

It always made me wonder if she knew more than she let on. If these men I saw during the day, she saw during the night. When she did that, I’d catch myself wondering if the way we rushed was the way he rushed out of her room.

As I got older, curiosity turned into resentment.

All my questions of who he is or what he was like were replaced by why did he do this or why does he not want me?

They were all different questions but the answer remained the same.

I don’t know.

I remember how much rage built inside me with that answer as ignorance was the opposite of bliss for me.

For the longest time I thought she was lying to me and I told her that with every bit of vitriol I could muster.

Looking back, she didn’t deserve the raised voice, the venom, or the accusations of deceit.

She shrouded her work and life in mystery but those three words were the most honest she had ever been.

Her and whatever man my father was had the same reasons for the actions they committed.

They were as clueless as I was.

My mother didn’t rush me because she was hiding things, she rushed me because my stares made those men uncomfortable.

She didn’t lie to me, she had no idea who my father was and how was he supposed to know if she didn’t?

An accidental release in the throes of ecstasy is the reason I’m here.

Why do I bring up how I was brought into the world?

I see you spiraling about your own paternity Destructo.

I’m here to tell you something I had to learn the hard way.

It doesn’t matter who your father is.

I’ve won plenty of gold without a semblance of an idea who mine is.

I’ve seen you do the same back when you had no idea.

When you thought The Burned Man was him.

I know there’s a lot of anger about being lied to by all of them.

Believe me I know it well but maybe he didn’t know as well and if he did, he chose to raise you anyway. That doesn’t deserve anger, it deserves admiration.

I’m just saying from one bastard to another, it doesn’t matter who brought us into this world, what matters is what we do with the one thing they gave us.

Show me and the others in this match what bastards can do.

I don’t intend to lose this match but if I do, I better lose to someone like me who understands that even if we were meant to be forgotten, we’ll make the word remember us.