Fifteen Part 2

I've kind of been putting off writing this post. Not because I don't want to share it but each time I put my past experiences on "paper", it somehow makes them more real than they already were and are. Alas, I need to write these things down, so here goes Fifteen, Part Deaux...

At the age of 15 was when my relationship with my parents began the transition from child to adult pretty quickly. When most children should be worried about school work, the opposite sex (come on, hormones!), that awkward stage, and perhaps what pool they would spend their summer at, my fifteenth year (and sixteenth year) was spent consoling my mom and being a sounding board for her.

You see, that year was when my mom started to suspect that my dad was having an affair. Not just any affair, but an affair with a woman who had been working for my dad since I was nine years old. [We will call her "K" for the purposes of anonymity.] K had become a best friend to my mom and the older sister I never had. She was there at every birthday and holiday celebration that I can remember. She was the one who taught me how to answer the phones at my dad's office when I worked there over the summer. She would come to my karate competitions and cheer my sister and I on. I can still picture her porcelain-like skin, thin stature, jet black hair with thin, big bangs. She had some keychains on her car keys that she promised to me when I turned 16 (which she delivered but they have since be tossed out with yesterday's trash).

Looking back, I almost wonder if the affair had been going on for years before we first knew it. My mom started telling me she suspected something was going on between them. Dad always had an excuse for needing to work late and missing dinner with the family. He was also growing increasingly defensive and irritable when he would buy us "things" and we didn't respond in the way in which he wanted. [Insert verbal abuse and yelling and screaming here.] There were countless claims that we didn't really love him and appreciate him. None of us. To which we would reply "of course we do!" through tears streaming down our faces. We were always the bad guys. He was always the victim. In reality, he was the one sinning against his own family.

This affair went on for at least two to three years that I know of. My mom would confide in me and ask me if I knew where my dad was. Try and call him and see if he would answer. She was also confiding in a close friend of the family at the time too. I don't blame her. She had no where to turn. Unfortunately, her confiding in me caused me to lose a part of my childhood. I no longer trusted any man I dated for the next decade. I still have doubts in my mind, but have come to the conclusion and a sense of peace that I can't control anyone but myself. If a man wants to be unfaithful, then that is his decision and he will have to face the consequences. I wouldn't change anything. I'm glad I could be there for my mom and help be a voice of reason or a shoulder to cry on, but looking back, I probably wasn't the best person to pull into the mix. I was just a teenage child.

Everything came to fruition November of my senior year of high school. I was in the basement, and my sisters were in their rooms when my dad came onto the intercom and asked us all to come to the kitchen. It was there where he confessed to us about the affair. He didn't confess apologetically, however. When he told us what had been going on, he put the fault on my mom for the family about to be torn apart. He said "your mom is going to leave us/me if I didn't tell you what I just told you". "Ask your mom not to leave us. She is about to walk out the door right now." [I'm sorry, but last I checked DAD, you were the one who cheated and screwed up. If mom wanted to leave you, she had every. single. f*cking. right.]

This confession left my sisters in tears and me doing my best to stay strong for them. They begged my mom not to leave dad just like dad wanted them to do. They made mom feel guilty for even considering it when I hoped she would be strong enough to walk out or better yet, make him walk out. Later that night when I got home from cheerleading, I can still remember going in my closet, shutting the door, and crying my eyes out. Finally, the truth had come out but the truth had become reality. My dad wasn't this man I put on the pedestal. Let alone the verbal abuse; he didn't only cheat on my mom; he cheated on us.

For years afterwards, I would have nightmares about my dad and K. About him confessing that he was in love with her and going to marry her. It wasn't until well after I graduated college that those nightmares subsided. Now, the nightmares have since gone away, but my relationship with my parents was and will forever be changed.