Oakman,
I'm sorry to hear what happened to you, but glad about what you are doing, now, for your boys.
I met my real father once when I was about twelve or thirteen years old. We talked, his wife made us breakfast, and then he took me for a ride on his motorcycle. I had a great time, and when it came time for me to leave, he told me that if I wanted to keep in touch, that I should write him. Well, I never did write. My mother had told me once that he had beat her up, and I think it was because of that, I held resentment towards him. It wasn't until much later in life that I decided that I wanted to try to find him. I searched the internet off and on for years trying to find his contact information, but never could. It was about five years ago, now, I was doing another internet search, and I finally found him. I had found his obituary. He had died about three months earlier, at the age of seventy two. I still to this day wish that I had written him. Instead, I spent a lot of years just wondering what it would be like to have my dad in my life. I should have been more forgiving.
All the best to you and yours, Oakman.