Men Don’t Cry

Published by Heather Louise on June 7, 2020June 7, 2020

East Florida Street. I wish I could remember how long it took me to tell my Dad about the lies that Stormie told me on that Wednesday night. Maybe a few months or maybe a few days. My memory of childhood events is pretty awful. Dad was living on East Florida Street on the southside of Youngstown. I was living with my Grammy.

I couldn’t wait to get Stormie in trouble with my Dad. I am not sure what their relationship was like after she left (I was 3 or 4), but I knew my Dad had a temper and I wanted him MAD at her. When he became angry, palpable energy filled the room and I wanted this directed straight at her. I can still the heaviness of that energy, even as I write about it. It makes my insides tremble.

She deserved his wrath. This would be poetic justice for the woman who left me without a mother. The woman who made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to stick around for. The woman who would pop in and out of my life with a different husband each time. Hadn’t this woman hurt me enough already?! Wicked woman, I’m going to tell my Dad on you.

Dad and I were standing in his living room. I can still see the darkness of the room. I don’t remember asking him or telling him what she said to me. YOUR FATHER IS NOT EVEN YOUR REAL FATHER. I waited for his response. I wanted to watch for the rage to rise in his chest.

Instead, my Dad lowered his head. This was one of the few times that I saw tears in his eyes. He looked at me and told me that Stormie could be right. That there was a 90% chance that I wasn’t his daughter.

10%. That’s all I needed to prove that she was wrong.

When I was 16, I could not wait to get a job. I gathered all of the applications I could find. When I turned the applications back in, the store managers would ask me where I was from. I would always reply with, “Right here, Youngstown!” They would all follow with the same reply, “Oh, I never saw a social security number like that from this area.” This happens to me every single time I have to present my social security number.

Years later, the thought popped into my head that maybe I could find out how social security numbers are issued. At the very least, I would have a more educated-sounding comeback when asked where I’m from, right?!

This is taken directly from the Social Security Administration website.

“Since 1973, social security numbers have been issued by our central office. The first three (3) digits of a person’s social security number are determined by the ZIP Code of the mailing address shown on the application for a social security number. Prior to 1973, social security numbers were assigned by our field offices.”

Just in case you are wondering about your own SSN, this link might be helpful. https://www.ssa.gov/employer/stateweb.htm

OHIO 268-302. Social security numbers begin with these three digits during this period of time. My SSN was issued out of the New England region, NOT OHIO. I ordered a copy of my social security number application from the issuing state. Maybe THIS would at least tell me WHO applied for my number.

When I received the copy, everything of any importance was redacted, crossed out with heavy black lines. There was NOTHING of value on the application. Nothing.

To this day, I still don’t know who applied for my SSN. I have been told that neither of my parents or myself has ever been to the state that issued my number.