Aaron White wanted to be a father more than anything in the world. But first, he had to heal the wounds of abandonment.   I saw him once. When I was five years old, he dropped off a BMX bike and patted me on the head. Though I didn’t know him, he felt familiar. I tried to make eye contact, but he dodged it.  It was as if my face haunted him. Upon his departure, my mom told me that he was my father, and like seeing a mythical figure, intensely I watched as he drove away.