Chapter 2: Robert's Story

"You're not my son," echoed in my ears. I recalled each syllable, each inflection to the nth degree. I think I heard the rest of the story, but that first sentence stood out more than everything that followed. My whole world, my entire existence was brought into question. I was not conceived in love as I had known my entire life, but in something else. But what? Tears burned my face.

I staggered out of the restaurant and headed back to the sanctuary of my hotel room. I got a room in a small hotel in Pacific Beach. I tried to understand the events of the day and failed. I wanted my family back, but realized that was impossible. However, I also knew that I had to go forth. For the past five years, I have been the father figure of our family, and I had grown a lot. I could not fail my brothers now.

As I laid down that night, past conversations and events burned my soul. My entire life ran past my eyelids. Every little league game, every family dinner, every time he sat with me doing math homework, every time he held my head as, I vomited into the toilet with the flu ran through my mind. I could not think of any bad memories of this man. Pain and sorrow consumed me until Morpheus took over.

The dawn shook me out of my dreams. The cold autumn air of the Pacific chilled me to the core. The night did nothing to give me direction to the future. I grabbed a pair of shorts, t-shirt, and my shoes and headed out to his house. I was only a couple of miles away, but the trip seemed longer. I arrived at his doorstep at about eight o'clock.

I rang the doorbell. However, before the sound had died out, the door opened, and he was there. He invited me in. I declined. "I listened to what you said yesterday. I hope you understand that I have many questions that must be answered and many issues to be resolved."

He looked at me with sorrow in his eyes. I continued, "I will be heading home today. I need to decide what to do."

"What will you tell your brothers? What about your mom?"

"I don't know." I replied with all sincerity. I didn't know what I would tell my brothers. Mom was another story entirely. I looked at him. This was the man who raised me. I don't care who was the sperm donor was. This man was my father.

There were several moments of silence between us. I broke it and said, "I do not know who donated the sperm for my conception. Whoever he is, he is not my dad. You are. You always have been and always will be." Another period of silence and then the tears started flowing.

"Daddy" I said and threw myself into his arms.

We both held each other tight. "Can we come back into your life? I'm not sure how my brothers feel." I hesitated. "Yes I do know; we all want you back."

Dad said, "I want back into your lives more than anything; I want to make up for what I did. But I don't know how. I cannot face your mother. My pain goes too deep. I'm unsure about every memory, every time together, and my entire life. I cannot face that."

He led me to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. We sat at the kitchen table and watched the birds on the patio. The waves washed up on the beach beyond the patio.

I led off, "Dad; you have given me a lot to digest. Mom hurt you. She hurt all of us, but she is still my mom. Since you have been gone, things have changed. I don't know how to figure this all out." A couple of tears slipped down his cheeks.

"I don't know how she could do that to you, to us? I understand all you said yesterday, but you are my dad. You are the father of my brothers and me regardless of what any test says. You have been everything in our lives, and we will need to work this out. I do not know where this ends, but I do know; you have been, and will continue to be a part of our lives."

I could see the burden of ages lifted from my dad. He seemed to grow a foot taller. He stood as big as I remembered him. He grasped me in a hug that crushed the air from my lungs. I wept and he held me, and I felt his sobs as he squeezed me.

"Thank-you." He whispered. "Please forgive me. I will do anything I can to make it up to you and your brothers." With all the strength that I remembered, he held on. He held me away and said, "I will give anything I have to you and your brothers to make this up to you."

"I will too." I said. I gave him one last hug and made my way back to the car.

The drive from Colorado to San Diego took a little less than sixteen hours. I made it in one full day of driving. For the trip home, I was going to split the trip into two days. I would stop somewhere near St. George, Utah, for the night. While I did plenty of thinking on the way west, I felt the trip home would consume more of my attention.

As I began my drive home, I remembered back. I recalled when I was young; I was never sure what my dad did for a living. He went out in the morning and came home at night. Whatever my father did he made reasonably good money. Every time we moved we purchased a new house in a decent neighborhood. As far as I knew we were not rich, but we didn't have to worry about money for clothes or groceries, and the bills always got paid. As a young teenager, I didn't know much about money, but a lack of it was never used as a reason we couldn't do things. I had a small allowance for Cokes, video games and incidentals, which kept me happy most of the time. I even got a bonus if I was needed to watch my brothers.

As I got older, I overheard something about airplanes a couple of times. However, I still didn't know what exactly he did, other than that it was associated with the military, and no one was allowed to talk about it. Every few months someone in uniform would show up for dinner. My brothers and I would whisper that dad was a secret agent. We had fantasies that he would jet off to some exotic place and steal secrets from Russian dictators. He was our hero. Even with his secret agent work, he still found time to play catch with me.

I remembered the day he left. I was just sixteen. I got home early from school that day. Normally, my routine was to drop my school bag at the foot of the stairs and make a beeline to the refrigerator. Mom always yelled about drinking straight from the milk carton, but when nobody was home, it was fair game. I remember the note on the kitchen table. All it said was "I know." 'What the heck did that mean, ' I thought. I left it there.

Mom and dad would not be home for a couple of hours, so I flipped on the television to watch an episode of the Simpsons that I recorded. After about a half hour, I went upstairs to do some homework. Randy and Michael got home, and they went out into the backyard to play. They didn't have as much homework as me. Tim usually stopped by his friend's house after school. He would slam into the house like a tornado at about dinnertime.

I was sitting in my room when I heard the cry. It sounded like an animal being slaughtered. I ran downstairs and found mom on the floor clutching the note to her chest. She was sobbing uncontrollably. I asked what happened, but she was crying too much to get a word out. She looked to be in such great pain. I guess Randy and Michael never heard her. They must have been deep in the backyard. I got mom to her feet and took her upstairs to her bedroom. I didn't know what to do, so I just held her while she cried. She held me back. I do not recall a single intelligible word. After a time that seemed like forever, she calmed enough to let go. I laid her back on her bed, and she just whimpered. She grabbed dad's pillow and curled herself around it. I didn't know what to do, so I backed out of the room and closed the door behind myself.

I went back downstairs and met Randy and Michael in the kitchen.

"Where's mom?" Randy asked.

"She is upstairs; I don't think she feels good." I replied.

"What's for dinner?" Randy came back with unconcerned about his mom's health.

"I don't know."

"Let's wait for dad. He will know." Michael inserted.

We waited for about an hour. Randy and Michael got out the Xbox and began to play against each other. Tim came home and joined his brothers in the ad-hoc competition. Shouts and yells came from the family room. I made my way back upstairs to check on mom.

She was still curled up around dad's pillow. "Mom," I whispered. I think she was awake. "Mom," I said a little louder. She stirred and looked at me with tear stained eyes. "When is dad coming home to cook dinner?" I asked.

I watched as fresh tears began to fall. "He had to go out of town for a little while. Can you be the man of the house tonight and fix up some mac and cheese for you and your brothers?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"Sure mom. What about you? Are you going to come down?"

"I'm not sure, honey. Can you handle it without me?"

I was sure that I could. I made mac and cheese all the time. Making it for my brothers would be no big deal. I boiled the water and cooked the noodles. In ten minutes, I called my brothers to the table. The conversations around the table focused on the latest Xbox game; who got in a fight at school and when the next basketball game was? Only a couple of passing comments concerned mom and dad's lack of attendance. It was Randy's turn to wash the dishes, and after it was all done, I quietly snuck upstairs to check on mom. Only a small table lamp was on, and the room was cast in dark shadows. She was turned away from the door, still hugging the pillow. I'm not sure if she was awake, or if she heard me.

The next day, we all got up and got ourselves dressed, semi-fed on cereal, and off to school. Mom was not around, but that was not really unusual. When I returned home, it was a repeat of most other days, book bag at the stairs, refrigerator, drink of milk, then plop down for thirty minutes of TV. My brothers got home at the regular times and the yelling and screaming commenced. However, something was not right. I went upstairs, looked in my parent's room, and saw mom on the bed. It did not look as if she had moved an inch since I saw her last night. I crept in. "Mom, are you ok?" I said.

Without moving she said, "Honey, can you order pizzas for you and your brothers? There is some money in my purse." I went around the bed to her purse. As I got out her billfold, I looked at mom. She looked awful. Normally, my mom was a very pretty lady. Some of my friends even make jokes about how hot she is, but now she looked really sick. Her eyes were sunken and ringed in red. Her hair was matted and tangled. She had on the same clothes that she was wearing last night. I was getting very worried. I figured that I had better call dad. Even when he was out of town, he always called us, but most times it was near bedtime.

When I got downstairs, I called dad's cell phone. He didn't answer. I left a message and waited for his return call. He did not call back. I was getting very worried. What happened? I thought the worst almost immediately. Did something bad happen to dad? Was that why mom was crying? I didn't say anything to my brothers about mom or that dad was missing. That night dad never called me back. I had tears in my eyes when I went to sleep that night too.

After a restless sleep, I woke up and make a straight line to mom's room. As I opened the door I saw she was still in bed, she whispered, "I'm alright, honey. Go get yourself and your brothers ready for school. We will all have a little talk tonight."

All day, I dreaded what this talk would be about. I don't think I heard any of my teacher's lessons. I kept to myself the entire day. At the last bell, I ran directly home. When I arrived home, Aunt Shannon was there. She was cleaning the downstairs and washing some dishes left in the sink. We called her Aunt Shannon, but she was not related. She was a close friend of mom's, and I think they worked together. This was another bad sign. I went straight upstairs to my room. The door to mom's room was closed.

I sat on my bed and fought back tears. Occasionally, one tear would trickle down my cheek. I heard my brothers arrive and a little while later I could hear the Xbox. I wondered if they had any feelings of impending doom. How could they not know something bad was about to happen?

I could hear Aunt Shannon rattling pots and pans in the kitchen. She called Tim to set the table and five minutes later; she called everyone to dinner. We were all seated at the table when mom came downstairs. I could tell she had put some effort out, but she still looked like death. She said nothing and carried herself to her regular seat. Aunt Shannon began to pass the food around. Absent was dad or a place set for dad. Suddenly, as if we all knew that something bad was happening, conversations stopped. The snide comments from one brother to another stopped in mid sentence; nothing was said about whom he likes, teases about one brother's stupid friends, comments about an ugly haircut, nothing. All those loving comments that hold a family together were now in the past. By some kind of mental telepathy, we all knew that nothing would be the same ever again.

I was watching mom out of the corner of my eyes. She took some food for her plate, but I never saw her eat anything. Often she wiped tears with her napkin. She did not look like she was going to make it through dinner. Halfway through eating, mom began, "Boys."

All our attention was on her. I saw Shannon reach over to hold her hand; as though offering some kind of strength to continue.

"I have done something terrible. Your father is very hurt and angry with me. He has left me. I do not know how long he will be angry or when he will be back. I know that your father loves you and does not want to hurt you." She looked around the table into each of our faces. As she caught my eyes, I saw her tears and could feel my own flowing. I was afraid to look at my brothers, but I could hear sobs from the end of the table.

She continued, "Things are going to be different from today forward. But, we will continue to be a family in his absence. We will respect his decisions and never shall a bad word be said about him. The fault lies solely within me." I saw Shannon squeeze mom's hand.

"You all have no reason to feel that you have done anything to push your father to this decision. You have all been good sons, and he is proud of you." With that, mom got up from the table and went upstairs. Not another word was spoken by anybody. The food was left on the plates and in a couple of minutes, my brothers ran from the table, separately, to grieve. I sat there stunned. Shannon got up and began to clear the plates. Out of habit, I got up to help. Shannon began to wash the dishes, and I took a position beside her to dry. In a quiet voice, she said, "Robert, you are the oldest. Much will fall on to your shoulders. You must do your best to help your brothers through this. Your brothers need you." She turned to face me, "Robert, can you do this?

I nodded slowly.

"Robert, your mother will need you too. She will carry this burden and guilt for a long time. You must not let that guilt overwhelm her. At times, you will have to support her. Hold her when she cries and remind her of your brothers' love. You will have to give her your love too. Can you do this?"

I nodded and wondered who was going to help me. Tears came again. I excused myself and went upstairs to my own solitude.

That dinner began the slow destruction of our family. Before this, I think mom volunteered at the cancer society. By the next week, mom announced that she had obtained a paying job. She said sadly, "I will not be making much in the beginning, so we may have to watch our spending." From then on money became another concern in our family.

Within six months almost all of our extra money was cut. No more Xbox games; no more dinners at nice restaurants, and no more extra money for Doritos after school. My brothers felt this and complained more than me. I took my first step to shoulder my share. I quit after-school sports and got a part-time job. I convinced mom to let me get a school work permit and got a job at Denny's. I cleaned tables, filled water glasses, and re-filled coffee cups. I worked about twenty hours per week. I worked for minimum wages, but I got a share of the waitresses' tip money. I split the money with my brothers and gave them each about thirty dollars a week. That helped soften the blow to my brothers a bit.

However, money was not the only problem. Soon guilt began to eat at our family, and each of my brothers displayed in their own way. For some reason, my brothers assumed that something they did was part of the reason dad left. If only I had not gotten that "D" on the math test. If only I could have not made that error at shortstop. If only I had told him how much I love him.

Each of them found a hundred reasons. Unfortunately, I did too. Randy threw himself into his schoolwork. From that day forward, he never brought home a grade less than an "A". One day, he confided in me that if dad ever did come home, he wanted him to be proud.

Tim did the same thing with sports. He got to the practice field before everyone else, practiced harder, and was the last to leave. He was rewarded with starting spots on the football, basketball, and baseball teams. By his freshman year, he was "All Conference" in two sports and on his way to being an "All American." However, that devotion took its tool. With his looks and being the star athlete, he never even had a girlfriend. He could not afford the time.

Michael was a different story. For the first couple of years, Michael played his guitar. He would lock himself in his room and play songs he heard on the radio. He did play well. But when he reached thirteen, he began to change. He began to hang around with the not-so-good kids. These kids had a reputation for getting into trouble. By the age of fourteen, I am pretty sure that Michael was smoking pot. More than once, he came home with bloodshot eyes and was staggering. I tried to talk to him, but he just blew me off. "You don't own me." He said. "You're not my father." He would yell with anger in his eyes. I didn't know what to do. My own guilt was consuming me too. I was putting in forty hours a week at work. I was promoted to waiter and making ok money. I still split it all with my brothers.

Through all this, mom was withdrawing more. I saw a change in her every month. Six months after the dinner, I think she realized that dad was never coming back. From then on, all she did was work, sometimes sixty hours per week, come home and fix dinners, then afterwards go to her room. The pretty mom that I once had was withering away, and I could do nothing to stop it. Aunt Shannon would stop by about once a month to talk to everyone, but that was the only guest we ever had in the house.

After the guilt, deciding who was at fault, came next. Although mom said she was to blame, we all took different paths to reach the final destinations. Randy and Tim eventually shifted much of the blame to dad. His inability to forgive made him the bad guy. I could see their anger at their father. Michael was the opposite. He took mother's confession to heart. He accepted the guilt and began to heap the blame on her. Michael's relationship with mom deteriorated. He became more rebellious at her. Many times, I had to intercede to keep the peace. My own path took me parallel to Tim and Randy. I knew my mom did wrong, but dad must carry some of the blame. With each passing year, dad's responsibility grew. I could feel my anger growing towards my father.

Once I reached nineteen, I looked for my father about every three months. I asked mom once if she ever looked or found him, and she began to cry. She stated that she never found him. My guess is that she looked for him, but never found anything.

I did on-line searches whenever I had the chance. Google is a wonderful thing. I got copies of his degree on-line and a couple of articles in aeronautical engineering magazines that mentioned his name. However, I never got anything current. It was just after summer when I got a hit. I discovered the race results of the San Diego Half Marathon. There, I found a listing with my father's name, age, and La Jolla was the city of residence. I remembered that dad ran a couple of 10k races when we were growing up. So I explored deeper. The race had a bunch of pictures of the start, finish and various shots of the crowd. In a background shot, I could make out someone who looked like him. Bingo.

My drive got me to St. George before dark. My family stood at a cross roads, and I now had the key to either destroying the rest of the way or trying to heal it. How would my brothers take the news of what mom did? We all transferred the blame to him. My brothers continuously asked why could he not forgive her. What was so bad? What about us? Now that I had the answers to these questions, I knew the effect that information would have. Would the anger and hate be transferred to mom? She was just barely holding on as it is. If her sons rebelled, that would push her over the edge. I was in a quandary. However, as the oldest, it was my burden to bear.

I found a small chain hotel just outside St. George and pulled in before six. The hotel had a diner, and I grabbed a quick hamburger. I was in bed by nine. But I don't think I fell asleep until past one.