Lost and Found
A Short Florida Story
Two known enemies of the Florida Panther are highway vehicles and guns. Farmers in the southwest area of the state have been known to kill panthers that have prowled around their livestock. In Naples, one Florida Panther known as “Uno,” barely survived his wounds. Shot directly in the face with a spray of shotgun pellets, one eye is forever pinched shut and the other is clouded over, frozen in darkness. Due to his blindness, he’ll never be able to reenter the wild; yet, in his docile and lovable nature, Uno is the favorite animal of the Naples Zoo.
In the 1990’s, the Florida Panther population dwindled to barely twenty big cats, but due to conservation efforts, this number is slowly growing. Preserving the Florida wildlife corridor, a thin green thread of land originating in the Everglades and branching out to Georgia and the Gulf of Mexico, is a way to save this majestic beast. Within these narrow forest walls, the Florida Panther travels, searching for a meal and for a mate. Their kittens are fuzzy, spotted, and vulnerable. They’re hidden away in the brush, camouflaged from predators until old enough to fend for themselves.
The Florida wilderness corridor is under threat due to over-development. Once it’s gone, migrating panthers will be trapped and unable to travel to other parts of Florida to find mates. Having access to a greater feline family is crucial to their survival and flourishing. Conservation groups are working to buy up the land, so it will forever be a wildlife refuge.
Sometimes a turn of events can be in your favor. Unmerited favor, otherwise known as grace, is a surprise that makes us feel so unworthy, yet filled with gratitude. I didn’t have a father, but other parental figures showed me the way to a flourishing life with their counsel and care. At age fifteen, my stepfather, Roberto was serious about adopting me, but an unexpected phone call changed his mind.
When the phone rang, I picked up the receiver. On the line, an elderly woman with a thick Italian accent asked, “Are you Chanda?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Nonna Cina, your grandmother. Years ago, we received the letter you wrote to your father, Jonathan.”
My head was spinning. Was she talking about the letter to my dad that I wrote when I was seven?
“Jonathan wants to meet you, but how would you like to meet your grandpa Ernie and me first?”
“I…I don’t know. Uh, let me ask my mom.” I dropped the phone and left it dangling by the cord.
Mom was gardening out in the backyard. “Mom, my grandmother is on the phone. Not your mother, my dad’s mother!”
She gasped, and then blurted, “Well, that’s wonderful!”
“Can my grandparents visit me?”
“Of course! Yes. Invite them over.”
Returning to the phone, I scheduled a meeting time. For the next few days, my chest felt tight and my stomach churned. Would I like them? Were they kind? Did my dad really want to meet me?
The moment they stepped through the door, my fears were put to rest. Nonna and Grandpa Ernie gave me a great big hug. As I sat between them on the couch, they showed opened an album and showed me pictures of my half-sister and half-brother. My father, Johnny, they explained, was in the middle of a painful divorce. His other kids would live with their mother during the week, but they’d visit him on the weekends.
Originally, Nonna and Grandpa were the recipients of my letter. When they confronted Johnny, he denied he was my father. He was only nineteen, too young to be a dad and, he reasoned, someone else could have been the father. Getting in trouble with the law for drinking and driving, unpaid child support, and the burden of the divorce caused him to reassess his life. He remembered the letter from a little girl who said he was her father. He realized he should try to find her.
Later that day, Mom told me that she had been Johnny’s girlfriend for only a month. After she had broken up with him, her jeans stopped fitting and she realized that she was pregnant. Friends convinced her that she already had a four-year-old son and couldn’t possibly take care of another kid. She should check out the women’s clinic where they gave out free pregnancy tests and also performed abortions.
Mom didn’t know what else to do, so she made an appointment at the clinic. While sitting in the waiting room, the possibility dawned on her that the baby growing in her belly could be a girl, and she always wanted a girl. When the nurse called her in, the older woman spoke condescendingly, “You don’t really think you could be a single mother, do you?”
Offended, Mom grabbed her purse and left the clinic. She met with Johnny and told him he was the father of her baby, but he denied it.
Yet, fifteen years later, he’d changed his mind. Now, I had a dad.
My grandparents invited me to their house to meet Jonathan. Meeting him for the first time felt awkward. I didn’t know what to call him. The first thing I asked him was, “Why didn’t you try to find me sooner?”
He thought for a moment and sighed. “I don’t know, but I’m here now.
Nonna and Grandpa instantly integrated me into their family. They were Christians and brought me to church with them. Nonna showed me how to teach Children’s Church. She also taught me to lead the third grade girls in the AWANA kids club. Family gatherings were spent eating pasta and playing Rummikub, Pit, or Skip Bo. Grandpa was the retired baker of Hedges Bakery in downtown Melbourne and made the best cakes, pies, cookies, and all natural breads.
For my seventeenth birthday, Jonathan’s two sisters, Jane and Dotti, threw me a party at Grandpa Ernie and Nonna’s house. Grandpa Ernie wrote about it in his memoir, Flowers for Cina:
On Chanda’s 17th birthday, Dorothy and Jane had a birthday party for her. Since we had missed her first 16 birthdays, the two aunts had a special gift for each year of her life. The gift matched the age. They varied from a baby rattler to a shopping gift certificate … we love her very much and are happy to have 10 grandchildren.
Every weekend, Jonathan invited me over to his little apartment efficiency on the Indian River Lagoon, along with my new half-brother and half-sister who were twelve and nine. At sunset, the sky washed over with lavender, coral, and gold. We waded out into the river and dug for clams by raking our toes through the mud. Johnny boiled the clams for our supper.
Jonathan lived by meager means. He worked as a roofer by day and a rock-and-roll guitarist by night. The locals around town knew him as the lead singer of “The Johnny Fever Band.” He played in bars along the river, not for the money but purely because he loved it. At his apartment, my sister and I played with his sound equipment and sang songs. Johnny had a white Labrador named Polar, his faithful companion.
By the end of the year, I called him Dad.
At the same time, as my dad’s divorce progressed, he slowly sank into depression. He spent more and more time at bars and less time with us. His dog, Polar, wound up missing. Living near the Indian River meant dealing with perilous US1 traffic. When Dad found Polar on the side of the road, he was barely alive and suffering terribly. He scooped up his dog with a blanket and gently placed him inside his truck. The vet offered to put Polar out of his misery. Losing his furry friend only added sadness upon sadness. Years of untreated depression would later take its toll on his life.
More Short Florida Stories “The Mystery of My History” “The Ocean and the River” “Once Upon a Time” “The Dad Who Wasn’t” "My Refugee Stepfather"