My dad left me in a park, saying only four words. It’s been 24 years.

**My dad left me in a park, saying only four words. It’s been 24 years.**<br><br>It was a Saturday meant for the mall, but dad decided a day in the park with him would be better. I couldn’t have disagreed more. From the very beginning of the car ride, I needed to pee, and so the very first thing I did after stepping out of the car was ask if we could find the nearest public restroom. After a few minutes of asking, he pointed to a few buildings reasonably out of the way, I guess it was good enough.<br><br>The park didn’t have any playground equipment or anything else a kid could enjoy other than walking trails and plenty of grass to get wet. After visiting the restroom, I waited outside for dad, who was in the restroom for a while himself. I sat on the grass and watched the people walk towards the parking lot, leaving the park. I watched a few couples walk by with dogs on leashes, and I remember spilling a bottle of water on my foot.<br><br>I nearly cried when I finally got up and wanted to ask my dad when we could go to the mall, and saw that he was gone. I frantically ran into the men’s restroom to look for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I ran outside and asked around, but everyone I asked said they hadn’t noticed anyone that looked like he did. I went back into the restroom, checking all the stalls, and there was no one there. I asked again if any of the people walking by had seen my dad, but everyone said no.<br><br>I ran back into the restroom, hoping he’d magically pop out, but he never did. In a panic, I walked back and forth from the parking lot, calling for him excitedly, with the hopes he’d pop out of a bush or something and scare me, but he didn’t. I found an employee with a cart and asked him to fetch a park ranger, but when the ranger showed up, he simply sat with me for a while and said he couldn’t take me to the police station. My dad had abandoned me. At the ripe age of 6, I was alone.<br><br>They eventually found a foster home that would take me in, and I lived there for several years before a couple arrived with the intention of adopting. I was a little older by then, and I remembered my dad vaguely. His gray hair mixed with black, his brown beard, and his green eyes, but the most vivid memory of him was of the way he smelled; tobacco and cologne. I was lucky, because the foster home I was placed in was well off financially, and I had my own room. The foster parents were nice, but they didn’t really treat me as one of their own. They were just a couple that liked kids and had none of their own, so they took a few foster kids in. I definitely wasn’t neglected, but I never felt like I was part of their family.<br><br>The couple that arrived to possibly adopt me was a middle aged man and woman, and they were very kind. They asked me questions, and I was relieved to see that they were genuinely interested in me. They were impressed that I had learned to read and write at a very young age, and they smiled at each other when I told them I was learning to pick locks with the house key. They told me they were going to take a walk and discuss adopting me, and they came back after a few minutes, smiling at the foster parents. I was officially adopted, and I felt as if I had found a family.<br><br>We moved out of the state, and I never saw the foster parents again, but I knew how to write letters, so we’d exchange mail every few months. When I was about 16, my adoptive parents asked me if I’d like to apply for my real birth certificate, and I realized I had no idea what my real last name was. Of course, I said yes. I was confused when they told me the documents they had been provided were incomplete, and that they couldn’t legally get my real birth certificate because it was private.<br><br>I was a little annoyed that they wouldn’t tell me my real name, but honestly, I didn’t care all that much. When I turned 18, I applied for my own birth certificate, and to my surprise, they sent me my real one. My name was Silas Gray. I had never heard of a name like that. My real parents were listed as Derek Gray and Brenda Gray. I searched them online, but nothing came up. I searched Derek and Brenda together, and then I tried first and last, but that didn’t yield anything either.<br><br>I had to delve deeper into the ‘documents’ that came with my real birth certificate. Naturally, I was very curious about my biological parents, and honestly, I still was. I opened the documents, which was just a few photocopied pages of handwritten notes. I recognized some of the handwriting from my foster parents, and other writing that seemed familiar but I couldn’t place. The writing that seemed most familiar was what was on the final page, with my parents names, my name, and the date and time I was born. There were a few lines of text, scribbled in handwriting identical to my own. On the bottom, it read:<br><br>‘They took you from me. Your father’s name is Silas. That’s all I know.’<br><br>I realized the writing was my own. I wrote this. It was the only writing on the page that didn’t appear to be from an adult. I remembered scribbling in a notebook, but I was too young to make anything out. I remembered the day I was taken from my father. I was in a park, and he said just four words before he left to go to the bathroom.<br><br>Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. ‘They’re coming for you.’<br><br>I was 6 years old the day I was “abandoned” because my father was trying to keep me away from someone, or something. But who? I knew I had to search more. I searched and searched, and I came up with nothing. Years worth of digging, and I still didn’t know anything about my family. I still don’t know anything about them. From the writing on the documents, I suspect that they were in danger, and that they gave me up to keep me safe from something, but I don’t know what.<br><br>I just hope my father is okay.<br><br>**EDIT**: In light of recent interest in this story, I’ve decided to remove my previous “update” post, as a lot of you are getting there via a chambers post. This is the original story.