Not all angels drive El Caminos
“Kindness to children, love for children, goodness to children - these are the only investments that never fail.”
Exactly three nights before I stumbled on the news that Bobby Drakulic was my birth father, I was having a text conversation with a friend. We shared with each other some painful memories about our childhoods, mostly making light of some dark situations. I told her a story about Jimmy, my mom and not-dad-Steve’s housemate, from the time I was 4 to 10 years old. In this story, I referred to Jimmy as “my guardian angel.” It was about the night my parents got into a particularly bad fight.
I was startled awake by the violence and crying coming from my parents’ room. I sat upright, frozen in fear. It felt like it’d never end. Jimmy heard it too and came to rescue me. He plopped me down in the passenger seat of his early 1970’s green Chevy El Camino. I loved his car, with its low rumble that I knew as a protective growl. He took me to Kentucky Fried Chicken, where we sat under the jarringly bright fluorescent lights, until he felt it was safe to return home. He told me everything would be okay, and I believed him.
The rest of my memories of Jimmy are much more pleasant. Every holiday while he lived with us he’d give me a Disney movie on VHS. The first one he gave me was Snow White & the Seven Dwarves. I kept my Jimmy collection of VHS tapes for many years, long past owning a VCR. I wrote “Stephanie” in Sharpie on the top of the white plastic cases. The last holiday gift from Jimmy was a ratcheting socket wrench set. I borrowed his tools often to tinker on my bicycles. Maybe he knew he’d be moving out and wanted to make sure I could tinker to my heart’s content after he was gone.
I was ten years old when he moved out. By this age I was staunchly stoic, so no one would know my heartbreak of losing him.
Fast forward to May 1st, 2020, the night I discovered Bobby Drakulic was my father and I spent the next many hours reeling, showing no sign of my former stoic self. I vacillated between laughing and sobbing hysterically. On one hand, I felt immense relief to know I was not Steve’s daughter, that I did not have his blood. On the other hand, is Bobby Drakulic alive? Will I get to meet him? Will he accept me?
I finally exhausted myself and passed out for a short coma-like nap before my eyes sprung open around 8am. My first phone call was to my mother. I had no idea what her reaction would be. Did she know? Had she ever suspected? After a few minutes of explaining what I discovered and how, in tears and in shock, she said, “I need to call Jimmy.”
Wait, what?
I asked, “Jimmy who? Our roommate when I was a kid, Jimmy? Why?! What does Jimmy have to do with any of this?!”
“He’s Bobby’s roommate.”
Wait…what?!
And so, the story of my guardian angel continued. Over the course of a couple days, I’d get Jimmy’s cell phone number from my mom. I texted him, essentially asking if he could put in a good word about me to Bobby. I sent him a few photos of me as a kid, as well as a photo of me playing pool as an adult. By this time, I’d pieced together that my birth father, my mom’s ex-husband, was the pool player who taught my mom how to play.
Snippets of the first text exchange with Jimmy from May 3, 2020.
Jimmy did put in a good word for me, and passed on those photos. One week after The Discovery, I’d drive ten hours from Portland, OR to Roseville, CA, my birthplace, and residence of one Bobby Drakulic, and his roommate, Jimmy. I’d see Jimmy in the flesh for the first time in nearly 25 years. I’d get to hug him, and remind him of all the kindnesses he showed me as a kid. I got to tell him to his face that he was my guardian angel then, and still. I have no doubt that if it hadn’t been for Jimmy’s help, it would have taken longer than a couple days to have my first phone call with my dad, and only a few days longer to meet him.
According to my mom, she knew Jimmy first, and while she was married to my dad, she introduced them. My dad said he knew Jimmy first, however. I never got the story from Jimmy himself, so I’ll never know for sure. It doesn’t matter, though - there hasn’t been a moment of my life since I was a kid when I didn’t think of Jimmy when I saw an El Camino, watched Disney movies, or drove by a KFC. And now, I think of him every day when I look at the photo of me and my dad, standing in front of Jimmy’s current vehicle, a red Dodge Ram.
The framed photo I see every day of me and my dad from our first visit. Jimmy’s red truck seen in background.
My dad passed away on October 28, 2020. My uncle George, who took the Ancestry DNA test that would lead to my discovering the truth, passed away on December 8, 2020. I’m not sure when Jimmy passed, but I found out on Feb 14, 2021 that he was gone. The last text I received from him was on Jan 1, 2021. I’ll never understand why the three of them passed in such a short span of time, but I do know how close I came to never finding out the truth, never getting to meet my dad in person, or reconnecting with Jimmy. It boggles the mind and stabs at the heart. But, as I’ve said before, it’s a gift to grieve.
Until next Sunday,
Stephanie
P.S. It slipped my mind to get a picture of/with Jimmy during my visits with my dad. But thankfully, I have my text history! Thank you, Jimmy.
