I was reunited with my real dad when I was 23 – he was lovely but we never met again

As Father's Day approaches, one woman talks about being estranged from her dad. Fi Da Silva-Adams, 53, owns a performing arts school for children with her husband Paul, 56, a professional musician. She has two children Zavier, 20 and Angel 17 and lives in Wiltshire. Here she shares her powerful story...

Standing outside a pretty Devonshire cottage I’d never been to before, my throat was a little dry. Butterflies flitted in my stomach. As I knocked on the door, I really had no idea how I would be greeted by the person on the other side.

Within seconds an older man opened the door, smiled warmly and said hello. Strangely, although I didn’t know him, I recognised his friendly face straight away – pale skin, blonde curly hair, light blue eyes. My dad looked just like me.

Reunited with my father

His name was Jack and I’d been in touch with his wife (called Nan) – via a friend – who seemed lovely. I was thrilled when she invited me to meet them. She told me that she and my father had been together for 30 years, he had gone on to have more children and that he had worked as a printer and she was sure he’d love to meet me.

"Come in, have a cup of tea!" said Jack and he opened his arms to wrap me in hug. Leading me into his house to meet Nan, we settled down in the kitchen and very quickly found ourselves chatting like old friends.

Jack asked me all about my life and about the fact I was about to start university to train to dance. He recalled his old memories of dancing when was younger at Hammersmith Palais. I thought it was funny that we both shared the same passion.

After an hour and a half, I had to catch my train. We said a fond farewell and wished each other the best. There was no mention of staying in touch but I was perfectly happy about that.

As I walked down the path away from his home, for the first time in my life I felt complete. It was as if a missing part of my personal jigsaw had finally been placed. ‘That’s all I needed,’ I thought to myself.

And it really was. Because that was in 1996, nearly 30 years ago, and I never saw my father again.

I had been estranged from my dad all my life although I hadn’t even realised it until I was about six years old. It was while on holiday in the countryside when I discovered that the man who my mother was divorcing – due to his abusive, alcoholic behaviour – was not actually my father.

Discovering the truth

I remember how it happened. Walking down a country lane looking at foxgloves with my mum and older brother and brother and sister, we were chatting when I said something along the lines of, "I like the nickname ‘Feebles’ that Dad calls me…" and mum simply said: "He’s not your dad."

It was a complete shock. I was so young that I couldn’t really understand what she was telling me but I remember the feeling that my world didn’t seem the same anymore.

Despite his behaviour towards Mum, he was still the only man I knew as 'my father' and I couldn’t understand how he suddenly couldn’t be ‘my dad’.

I don’t recall much about what happened next although within a year I knew I wanted to meet him. And by the age of seven, I was taken back to the cottage where I was born on the sofa and where, it transpired, my father still lived.

Breaking up

I had discovered that mum had left him when I was only 10 weeks old. She never disclosed the reasons why but he was over 25 years older than her and for her to leave a marriage with three young children in the 70s must have been difficult. She must have had very good reasons.

Although I remember walking up some cobbles to a very low-thatched cottage, I don’t remember anything at all about meeting with the man himself.

But as I grew up, I was very aware of my father’s absence. I look nothing like the rest of my family – who are all olive-skinned with dark hair and eyes. Until I found out about my real father’s existence, I’d even thought I might be adopted.

There was no contact between my mother and my father but my mum worked so hard to keep my older siblings and I well cared for and keep a roof over our head. She did so many jobs – including scraping up chicken poo – to earn money and I will always love her for that.

On Father’s Day I would always bring mum breakfast in bed and celebrate that with her because she was the one bringing us up on her own. I would make her sausages and tell her how much I loved her and even now on Father’s Day, I say to her that she is the most wonderful mother and father.

Identity issues

But I missed having a father figure. Even though Mum went on to marry a further three times, all of these marriages were troubled.

I wanted a normal family life and didn’t understand what the role of a father actually was. In fact, when I had children of my own, I developed bad postnatal depression because I had no idea what my husband Paul’s role was in bringing up children and felt I needed to do it all myself.

I felt a real sense of having to protect my children, even though Paul is the most wonderful, adoring father and husband. As I watched him play with our children or give them presents or treats, I actually felt a little envious that I had nothing like that in my past.

It was just before I met Paul that I met my real father for that afternoon chat at his new home, not the cottage I was born in. Perhaps I was having some kind of identity crisis before I left for university but I felt a real need to meet him, to see his face and to talk to him.

Of course, I was terrified of rejection and also of upsetting my mum. So I kept it secret from my entire family.

But when I turned up on his doorstep that day in 1996, I really had no idea what to expect. I was delighted that he welcomed me to his home and we shared that lovely afternoon. But afterwards, I felt no yearning at all to see him again. He had not been a part of my life for 20-plus years and if I did reconcile with him, I know it would upset the rest of my family. So we left it there. It was enough.

Finding happiness

Today, 30 years on from that meeting I rarely think about him. I’m happily married with two children and own my own business – Revolution Performing Arts – with Paul. I’m still very close to my mother, who is now 80, and she only ever speaks about my father when we watch Strictly Come Dancing together. She reminisces about her times when they danced together and she was so tiny that when he held her in his arms, her toes would dangle on his.

It was during the last series of Strictly that he popped into my thoughts again. And I realised that – with the age gap – my father must be dead by now. I didn’t feel particularly sad. It was like a feeling when you find out that a celebrity has died, a curiosity and a sadness for their own family, but not for yourself.

As Father’s Day comes around again, I’ll always have that memory of our warm, cosy chat in the kitchen. But it will be my 80-year-old hardworking and loving mum who I will be celebrating.