We played several board games such as Sorry,Trouble and Life before we quit. Kieran asked me to go upstairs and play army men with him, but I declined stating that I had some work I needed to get to before we went to bed. He reluctantly agreed to let me go, but asked if I would let him borrow my Old Yeller video. He wanted to watch it what time he played. I went and got him the DVD and went back to my office so that I could continue Dad’s letter.
I was shaking when I picked up the letter. For the second time that day, I had to fight the urge to wad it up and throw it into the trash can, but I couldn’t. Above all things, I am a curious person and I had to know what secrets this letter contained. For better or worse, I had committed myself to this course of action and thus was prepared to deal with the results of that decision. I took a deep breath and began reading on the back of page seven.
The first couple years of our marriage were wonderful. I worked hard and made a good living and your mother kept a wonderful house for us. Once you kids starting coming I thought that I was the luckiest man ever to have walked the planet. Those were the happiest days of my life.
Things began to change when I took the job as foreman with Southern National Construction. They offered me a dollar fifty more on the hour and they promised me that they’d train me to be a manager if I could prove to them I had the metal to be a good employee. I accepted that job and worked like a brute trying to prove to them that I was everything they wanted and more.
I began to work sixty to seventy hours a week. I was never home and when I was all I wanted to do was to sleep and rest. Your mother began to feel neglected and we began to argue all the time.
I was shocked when she began quarreling with me. I thought I was being the dutiful husband. She had a fine home with all the right furniture. She was the first person around with a colored television. She had nice clothes and tons of jewelry. I bought her diamond rings, gold watches, pearl necklaces and bracelets and such. I had her brother to teach her how to drive and I bought her a brand new Buick, but none of that made her happy.
She began to accuse me of running around on her, but I didn’t. I was too busy working. She even showed up to work on a couple of occasions just so she could catch me cheating on her. She never caught me with another woman, because there were no other women. All I had was my family and work. I worked so that I could provide for my family and I provided well for you guys.
Still, she claimed that there was something missing. I told her that if she’d tell me what it was I’d buy her two of them. That made her angry. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was a fool.
It takes more than money to be a good husband. The secret to being a good husband and a good father, for that matter, is not money, but time. That’s the greatest piece of advice I can give any man. Your wife doesn’t want big cars and diamond rings and things like that. The thing a wife needs the most is you and your undivided attention. If you give her that, then the rest will take care of itself.
I want to tell you that what happened is not your mother’s fault, it was mine. I accept responsibility for everything that happened. I’m to blame and no one else. I want you to understand that before you go any further.
I stopped there and tried to ponder what he was going to say next. I was getting close to what I had always wanted. I could feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck and my body was tingling with a combination of fear and excitement. I was also having trouble controlling my breathing.
“Tear it up and throw it away right now,” I thought to myself. For a split second, I almost did it, but this was what I had been hoping for all my life. Therefore, I had to press on in order to get at the truth.
I put the letter down on my desk and walked into the bathroom. I turned on the cold water and scooped a handful and splashed it on my face. I then dried it with a hand towel. As I started to exit the room, I felt my stomach wince. I ran to the commode and draped my head over the bowl. With a violent involuntary action, I regurgitated the contents of my stomach. After the initial blow, I went to wipe my mouth. As my hand raced across my lips, my stomach convulsed again and an even greater amount of chunks emitted from what seemed to be my very soul. I would repeat this action two more times.
Once I could vomit no more, I reached out and flushed the contents of my stomach down the drain. As I watched it swirl around the basin, the only thing I could think was that I needed to chew my food better.
After a second flush, I went back to the sink and scooped a hand full of water and began to gargle it. I then walked over and spit the contents into the commode. I would do this several more times. After that, I would double flush again and then brush my teeth.
It took several minutes before I was able to go back to the letter. Like a boxer before a match, I had to pump myself up before I was able to take it in hand. I had to reassure myself that this was what I had to do. I began to gently slap my face as I tried to build up my courage. Never had I been so frightened, but yet, so determined to see something through. It took a while, but eventually, I was able to return to the letter.
About a year before you were born, I began making week long to two week long trips to our various construction sites. I should have been at home, but I wasn’t. I should have been taking care of my family, because if you don’t someone else will. I’ll explain this later on.
Prior to marrying her first husband, your mother had dated a man named Larry Kane. He had dumped her for another woman and she married Horace less than three months after that. Larry had been gone a few years and was now back in town. He’d gotten himself a divorce and was trying to turn his life around I guess. He was now a lawyer and he was opening up and office in Hindman.
He bumped into your mother one day and he began calling her after that. Since I was away and she had no one else to talk to, she began confiding in him. This went back and forth for a couple of months. One of those weeks where I was out of town, he made his way over to the house one Friday night.
I guess your mother was lonely and depressed.
I stopped before moving on to the next sentence. Unsure of what else to do, I began crying. My entire life I had been lived trying to live it in a sinless manner and I had failed miserably. A sinless life was the only way I felt I could fit in with my family. I had grown up with the notion that I was the only real sinner in my family. Now, I was being told differently by my own father. I was devastated to find out that my saintly mother had done such a thing as that which I was now suspecting she had done. Except for the animosity between us, which I always assumed was my fault; I’d never known my mother to do anything that could be hurtful to other people.
I had never thought that my mother was capable of sin. I knew I was. Most people I know like to compare themselves to other, usually more wicked, people. That way they get to be self-righteous in their own eyes. I, own the other hand, have compared myself since childhood to my mother. She was saintly and almost God-like, whereas I was nothing but filthy rags in comparison.
I’d always saw the negative of my personality and not the positive. Whether that was due to the fact that my mother liked to point out my flaws or to that I was conscious of them, I’m not sure. But, of this I am sure, I knew I was capable of sin from a very young age. All I can tell you is that since childhood. I saw myself as the epitome of a sinful person and that was the type of person God hated above all others.
I tried to be good. I wanted to be good, but had yet to succeed, even for an hour. Now, here I was finding out that my mother, who was right up there with God and Jesus, was a sinner like me. Knowing that should have made me feel better about myself, it didn’t. It made me hate myself all the more. After all, I may have been the reason she sinned. The way I saw it was that I not only had my own sins to pay for, I also had the added burden of paying for hers as well.
I struggled to breathe as the weight of what I was about to read hit me like a speeding train. How could I carry that extra weight when I could barely carry the burden produced by my own sins?
I guess your mother was lonely and depressed. She had to have been or she would never have let him into the house. The girls were at her mother’s house and one of her cousins was supposed to stay with her that night. Rita had called and said she was on a date and would be in late. Since she had nobody else to talk to, your mother let Larry into the house.
I don’t want you to think that your mother did anything wrong because she didn’t. He tried to come onto her, but she refused his advances and he became angry. This upset your mother and she told him to leave. He refused and then in a drunken rage he raped her.
I nearly passed out when I read that last sentence. At first I thought I had misread it, so I read it a second, and then a third time. Each time is said the same thing and that thing was that my mother had been raped by a man she thought was her friend.
I hate to admit this because it probably reveals how depraved I truly am, but I was both angered and relieved by that bit of information. I was angry at my mother for being so stupid as to be alone with a man that was not her husband. I was also relieved to know that she had not had an affair with him. But, I was boiling over with rage towards this Kane fellow. I was so incensed by him that I could have spit venom.
I began reading the letter again. I was hoping to find out where this Larry guy lived. Once I did that, I was going to pay him a little visit and he was not going to like the outcome, of that I was sure.
Rita got a hold of me at about two o’clock that morning. I had been working on a project in Dayton, Ohio. After I got off the phone with her, I went and banged on the door of one of the foremen’s rooms. I told him that there was an emergency and that I was heading home. He promised to let the crew know. The trip from Dayton to home normally took about seven hours. I made it in less than five. There were times when I was doing over 100 miles and hour. I got stopped once by a cop and he let me go when I told him that I was rushing to a family emergency. He warned me to be careful, but I paid him no mind.
When I got there, your mother was sitting in a bathtub crying her eyes out. Rita was sponging her back and singing softly to her. I’ve never forgotten the look on your mother’s face when I walked in the bathroom. She looked like a tiny child that had just lost her favorite doll.
Tears were slowing rolling down her face and she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I scooped her up in my arms and began stroking her hair. “You did nothing wrong,” I said in a voice so low that even I could barely hear it.
Your mother began to sob and tried to speak but managed only to get out, “He forced me.”
“That smooth talking son of a…” Rita caught herself before she finished. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Larry Kane,” responded Rita. “You know him.”
I nodded to indicate that I did know him.
“Where does he live?” I asked.
“Don’t tell him!” shouted your mother. “He’ll kill him.”
“If he don’t, I will.” Rita was as hysterical as your mother. “He deserves to die. He lives above Bill and Shannon’s dress shop in Hindman”
“Where’s that?” I wanted to know so that I could go after him.
“Across from the courthouse,” returned Rita. “I’ll bet he’s alone. He drives a big green Buick. You can’t miss it.”
“Good,” I spat. “He’s raped his last woman.
“Don’t do it!” screamed your mother. I could hear the panic in her voice.
I took off without saying another word. As I left the house, I could hear Rita shouting. “Kill ‘im. Kill ‘im, dead!”
I hadn’t gone six miles when I saw a big green car parked on the side of the road at the top of Bill Dee Mountain. I pulled off the road just hoping it was him. It was just about sun up and it was pouring the rain. I put the hood of a rain jacket over my head and I walked to the car.
I looked in the window, but couldn’t tell who it was. I pecked on the window and kept pecking on it until I noticed movement in the car. The car was still running and I was afraid that the person in it might have been gassed to death due to the fumes from the running engine. After a couple minutes of pecking, the man began to stir. As he raised his head, I could tell it was Larry Kane.
“Come out of there so I can rip your head off!” I shouted.
He didn’t say a thing, but looked up at me through alcohol stained eyes. When he realized that it was me, he put the car into gear and peeled the tires trying to get out of there. He nearly ran me over while trying to get away from me. I had to jump out of the way or he’d killed me.
He barreled out of their like a scalded cat. His car fishtailed three or four times in the mud. Once he hit the pavement, he gunned it and I could hear both barrels of his carburetor kick in. I ran back to my truck in order to chase after him. I hadn’t even got to open the door, when I heard a loud crash. It sounded like a cannon going off.
I pulled out of there and began to follow him. I hadn’t gone around two curves when I noticed a part of the guardrail was missing around that steep curve at the top of the hill just as you start to come down the mountain. I pulled my truck off on the other side of the road and then ran over to get a look at what was happening. As I approached the railing, I could see that it was his car. It had rolled about a hundred feet down the valley and was resting upside down.
I stood there for a couple of minutes before I started to walk down to check on him. I hadn’t decided what I was going to do when I got there. I’m not going to lie to you. I was hoping he was alive. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw before I put him in Hell! I wanted him to see the hatred I had for him. I wanted that image burned into his mind for all eternity.
When I got there he was still alive, but was trapped in his car. He was screaming for help. He was begging Jesus to help him. When he saw me, he begged me to help.
I got down on my hands and knees and looked into the car. “Do you know who I am?” I asked.
“No,” was his frantic reply.
“I’m the man whose wife you raped.”
He paid me no mind. “Please help me. For the love of God help me!” He shouted this a dozen times or more, but I kept repeating that question. I was prepared to help him, but only after he admitted the rape to me.
As we were arguing, I noticed a dark red drop of blood had begun to roll out of his ear. It looked like a tiny crimson marble and it gently rolled down his hair. I stood there watching it gently meander to the top of his upside down head. When it got level with his part, a second one formed and then a third. They all three trickled down to where they pooled to form a large red tear that dropped from his hair onto a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey. I watched as that first ball of blood splashed onto the thick glass and then dissolved into a million tiny droplets. I was completely engulfed by that thought.
I was pondering the meaning of that drop when his screams aroused me from that image. “For the love of God, help me!”
I looked up at him and noticed that blood was pouring out from his nose and mouth. That which was coming from his mouth was pinkish, like when blood is mixed with milk, and it was bubbling. He tried to say something but choked on his blood instead.
He reached his hand out for help and I took it. For the life of me, I don’t know why I took it, but I did. I had thought about nothing else but killing him for the last few hours and there I was helping him. Don’t ask me to explain it, I can’t. All I can tell you is that when the moment came, I couldn’t kill him. I was actually helping him.
I know this is going to sound strange to you, but of all the good things I’ve done in my life, that is the one in which I am most proud. Part of me will always regret not killing him, but the best part of me is proud of what I did that day.
I began to pull and over the next few minutes I managed to free him from his car. I was trying to help him get up the hill when I heard another car slow. I began shouting.
“Help, there’s been an accident! I need help!”
I kept shouting this until I heard a reply. “What happened?” came a voice from the top of the hill. I looked up and saw two men coming down the valley to help me.
“He’s wrecked,” I said. “He’s hurt bad and I need a hand.”
They raced down the hill to help me. The three of us carried him up the mountain and then threw him into the back of the pickup truck they were driving. We tore out of there so fast that I forgot to get the keys out of my truck. We stopped at the first house we saw and called Dr. Watts. He said he could meet us at his clinic in ten minutes.
We got there about the same time as he did. We carried Larry in to the clinic and put him on one of those exam tables. We hadn’t been there five minutes when Dr. Watts came in and told us that Larry was dead.
I began to cry. I was crying out of relief and not out of hatred. I was thankful to God that he hadn’t allowed me to go through with my plan. He’d administered justice and had saved me at the same time. That night, I went to church and said a prayer of thanks to God. I was thankful to God for stopping me from making the biggest mistake of my life.
Now I know, I didn’t always live like I should have and I know I didn’t treat you like I should have, but know this. I love you and am proud to be your dad.
Here comes the hard part of this letter. I hope you’re sitting down because this next part is going to knock you off your feet. I pray that one day you can forgive me for what I am about to tell you.
I stopped and closed my eyes. Do you want to go through with this? I thought about it for less than an instant and then put it out of my mind. I knew I was going to proceed, but needed some time to gather up my courage. I began to look around the room. I don’t know why I did it. It was as though I was expecting God to be in the room. That way He could tell me that I should proceed.
I laughed at my own silliness. It was a chuckle born out of desperation and not because I found this situation amusing. I found it terrifying and began to pray.
“God, if you really exist, then I need help. I’m at a point of no return. This is what I’ve been seeking all my life and now I’m having second thoughts. If you love me like everyone says, then help me. Make this fear and doubt go away.
“I’ve only prayed to You one time before and I will admit it got answered. Now, I’m beginning to wonder if that was only coincidence. Here’s Your chance to prove to me that You are out there and that You really exist.”
I stood there for several minutes waiting for something to happen. I don’t know what I was expecting, perhaps it was manna from Heaven or the clouds parting or even the voice of an angel talking to me. I didn’t know what to expect, but I know what I got; nothing.
I sat there for several minutes and nothing happened. I silently pleaded for His help and nothing happened. Well, almost nothing happened, I began to get angrier and angrier, but other than that, nothing happened.
After several minutes, I gave up on my prayer. “Figures,” I mumbled as I picked up my letter. I was trembling so badly I had difficulty reading the letter. Since I couldn’t stop shaking long enough to focus on the letter, I spread the paper out on the desk in front on me and began reading.
I hope you’re sitting down because this next part is going to knock you off your feet. Eight weeks after this incident your mother announced to me that she was pregnant. I’m sure, by now, you’ve figured out that you were the child she was carrying.
I know you think that you were treated differently and you probably were. I’m truly sorry for that. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to tell you the truth. Do you remember that time I took you fishing when you were twelve? That was the only day out the two of us ever had together. I regret not doing more things with you. I was always afraid that I’d slip up and let the truth out. That was what I was going to do on the day we went fishing. I was going to tell you the truth, but being the coward I am, I couldn’t.
The truth is that your mother wanted to keep that secret no matter what. She was willing to do anything, even ending our marriage, to keep it. That is probably the biggest reason she treated you like she did. She feared what the truth might do to her and to you.
I know that she loves you just as I love you. Of all our children, you are the one most like me. You even smile like me. Since birth, your personality has been like mine and probably always will, but I think you are a better man than me.
I’ve read a lot about the nature verses nurture debate and after watching you grow, I’m convinced that the nurture argument is the correct one. How else can you explain your personality being like mine? I can’t explain it any other way.
I raised five children three of which are my own. You’re more like me than all the rest combined. You don’t look like me but you do act and think like me. I attribute that to your raising and not your genes.
I’m so proud of you. I wish I’d told you that more often. By the time everything is said and done, you’re going to have made a name for yourself. The success I craved throughout my life is going to fall to you, my beloved son.
I’ve never considered you anything other than my child. I know I’ve not been the ideal father, but I truly love you. Despite all that happened, I love my family and I’ve loved you like I’ve loved no one else. I only regret not telling you that more often. Don’t do the same with Kieran!
You mother always saw you as a curse, a constant reminder of her lapse in judgment. I saw you as a gift from God. I saw you as a special gift that God was determined to give us no matter what we tried.
Since I’m baring my soul to you, there is one other item I must tell you. When you went off to college and came back this militant liberal Nazi, we argued about a great many things. The most common of which was abortion. You believed then and I think still do believe that a woman has the choice. I won’t call it a right since I believe it to be murder.
Do you know why I believe it to be murder? Your aunt Rita tried to help your mother to end her pregnancy of you on three different occasions. Thanks to God, they failed every time. Your mother saw this as a curse and thus fears you to this day. Sure, she loves you, but she’s also scared to death of you.
I, on the other hand, saw this as a miracle. I saw it as God’s hand being placed on you. I saw it as a reflection of His love for you. I saw it as a blessing not only for me and the rest of the family, but for the world as well. I saw it as a sign that God was going to use you to do great things. That’s why I eventually surrendered my life to God. I want to be in Heaven with you. I wanted to be more than your father. I wanted to be your brother as well. I love you that much!
The next few lines had all been scratched out and I could see several places where my father had tried to begin a new sentence or paragraph, but each time he had marked through them and tried to begin anew. I could make out some of the words, but with none of them could I make out a full sentence.
I didn’t need to make them out, because I knew what they were going to say. Suddenly, all the questions I’d ever had were being answered and answered by me or, maybe even, God. Perhaps, this was an answer to a prayer, but I couldn’t see how.
My prayer had been for the removal of pain and for the healing of the rift between my mother and me, but this was definitely not what I was wanting. I wanted peace of mind and to have a soothing ointment applied to all the psychological wounds I had accumulated over forty years of living. What I got was a spiritual sucker punch right to the gut.
If ever I needed evidence to prove that God hated me, I now had it in spades. He knew the hurt that I had been nursing since conception and the hopes I had for them. What did He do about it? He ripped it wide open and allowed me to see all the poison that had been festering for decades. I hated Him for that.
I now understood everything. I now understood why I’d always been treated like a second class citizen by my own family. It was because I was not really a part of that family. I was nothing but a nuisance that they had to tolerate due to the unfortunate circumstances of my birth.
I started to laugh at the irony of it all. My hair, eyes, demeanor, body style and height was not the result of an odd genetic misfire, but the actual passing of the dominant genetic code that had been hardwired by God, Himself, into the Kane family.
I began to violently shake as the full impact of what I was now learning hit me. I began to curse my father for being a coward. I found it ironic that he could only tell me this after his death and not while he was still living. Did he fear my reaction that much?
And my mother, she was no better. For the first time in my life, I understood why she treated me the way she did. I now knew why I was the family curse. I stood as a constant reminder of the shame and humiliation she had endured. For nearly four and a half decades, I stood as a shining beacon to hearken her back to the most devastating day of her life.
Somewhere in the mist of all this turmoil taking place in my mind, something snapped. I began to laugh uncontrollably and started foaming at the mouth. I ripped the shirt off my back and began clawing at myself. I dug deep grooves into my arms and chest and watched with and animal like delight as the blood trickled down my body and began to drop onto the tan carpet below.
For some unknown reason, I began howling like a wolf. Grabbing a stack of papers, I began gnawing on them like a rat nibbling on a piece of cheese. I then stripped off all my clothes and began snake crawling on my belly.
At that instant something that is beyond description happened. It was as if I had split into two parts; the body and the spirit. The spirit inside me simply stepped outside of the body and left nothing but some animalistic being writhing on the floor. I could look down on myself and see my naked body slithering across the room, but was powerless to stop what was happening.
I could see the blood being smeared on the carpet and I remember thinking clear and coherent thoughts, but only one stayed with me. “She’s going to kill me for messing up the carpet.” Why I remember that and nothing else is beyond me, but that is all I remember.
I stood there watching and knowing that this creature on the floor was some doppelganger or specter that looked like me, but possessed none of my awareness. I remember feeling sorry for it and I recall being thankful that wasn’t the real me.
I watched myself and refused to re-enter the body until my wife burst through the door. I don’t know why I chose that exact moment to return to the prison that was my spirit’s shell casing, but I did. I didn’t want too. There was something liberating and wonderful about that experience outside my human shell. I had felt at peace with myself when I was outside the body and at no point wanted to go back. I returned only because I was afraid my wife would see the two parts of me and I wouldn’t be able to explain it to her.
Once back inside the body, I realized my mistake and tried to leave again, but was trapped. I let out a guttural scream and suddenly, my senses returned to me and I was the man I had been less than an ten minutes ago.
“What happened?” screamed my wife.
I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know myself.
I was still lying on the floor when my son entered the room. “Is that blood?” he asked. “Is daddy going to die?” He began shaking uncontrollably.
“No,” replied my wife. “He’s hurt, but not going to die. We need to get him up and get some clothes on him. Do you understand?”
Although the tears were still flowing from him like water rushing down a mountainside, he answered his mother. “Yes, what’s the matter with daddy? Why’s he naked? Is he sick?”
“Yes, but his sickness is in his mind. Now, help momma with daddy.”
They bent over and tried to pick me up, but once they laid their hands on me, I stood up on my own accord. I could see them and knew they were trying to help, but was unable to understand what they were trying to do. Everything was playing like a movie being shown within the recesses of my mind. I could see everything, but was helpless to react to it.
My wife put her arms around me and began to lead me towards the master bathroom. “Come on baby, we’re going to get you in the bathtub. Kieran, go turned the water on for momma.”
“I might get it too hot.”
“That’s all right I’ll check it once I’m in there. Go ahead, your daddy needs you.”
“Is he going to be all right?” There was caution and fear in my son’s voice.
“Something got inside his mind and grabbed a hold of his good sense. He’ll be okay once he comes to grip with it. A warm bath will do him a world of good.”
“How did he cut himself like that?”
“He didn’t. It was the sickness.”
Kieran began to cry out loud. Prior to this, the tears had been falling, but he’d remained silent; now, he was sobbing as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
While supporting me with one hand, his mother reached out with the other one and began to wipe his tears away. “There, there, it’s going to be okay. Daddy just needs some rest.”
“What if that disease is catchy? I don’t want you to get it too?”
“You won’t,” assured his mother. “I promise.”
The sobs stopped as if on cue. “Promise?” He tried in vain to smile.
“With all my heart, I do. Now go turn on the water.
Twenty minutes later, my wife was wiping my face with a warm wash cloth when I put my hand on her face and began rubbing it. “Where am I?” I asked. “What am I doing in the tub?”
“It’s a long story,” replied my wife.
“Daddy, you’re back!” shouted my son. “Where’d you go, dad?’ Where’d you go?” He started to hug me, but pulled back, hesitated, and then backed up a couple of steps.
He looked at me expectantly before he spoke. “Is it you dada? Is it really you?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “It’s me.”
My wife dropped the wash rag into the tub and lowered her head. I sat there watching as her shoulders began to bob up and down. She began to cradle her face in her hands.
I had to fight to choke down the lump that had formed in my throat. I began to stroke her dark hair and tried to whisper soothing words to her.
“Let it out,” I said as I caressed her. “I’m sorry for what happened. I didn’t mean it.”
Kieran saw what was happening and began stroking her hair as well. He moved in closer, but I noticed that he went to the other side of her. It was like he was using her body as a shield between the two of us.
“It’s all right momma. The bug has left dad. I don’t think it’s still floating around here. There’s nothing to worry about. If I see that bug, I’ll shoot it with a bazooka.”
I began to laugh at that and for the briefest of seconds, I could feel my wife’s body pause and then relax. I smiled even though she would tense up a few seconds later.
Kieran smiled when he realized that his words had brought relief to the family. I guess he thought that were he to make us laugh, then this whole scene would go away, because he tried and failed to make another joke.
“After I shoot it with a bazooka, I’ll flush it down the commode.”
He began to cackle, but it was a hard fake laugh and not the type that naturally flowed from my son.
I must have realized what he was doing because I began to laugh. At first it was forced and painful, but it did the trick. As I began to laugh, my son’s fake laugh turned to the genuine article. Once I saw this, mine followed suit. Within seconds, all three of us were laughing like a bunch of lunatics.
“Let’s get you out of the tub and get some band-aids on you,” stated my wife in a low motherly voice.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You’ve ripped your flesh off, but none of them are deep. A couple’ll leave scars, but most won’t. You’re lucky. It could have been worse.”
She looked me in the eye before she spoke again. “Honey, if that letter is going to cause you this much grief, you need to throw it away. Nothing is worth this.”
“It’s too late,” I responded. “I already know the truth.”
“And?”
“I’m not sure, but I now know why I always felt like an outsider in my own family. It’s because I am.”
I heard my wife gasp. “You mean you were adopted like you thought?”
“Worse.”
“What could be worse than that? Wait don’t answer that. Let’s give it a couple of hours.”