Let's Not Split Hairs

They were in the house for about four hours. Four hours of hell for me, but no doubt four hours of heaven for them. Four hours and then they both exited the house quickly. Rachel had parked in the garage as soon as she arrived home and now, after four hours she was leaving again. The man with Rachel had positioned himself so that he could not be seen by any casual observers, but I was definitely not one of those. The top of his head, especially his pitch black hair was just visible above the dash board. As if on auto pilot, I again followed them back to the shopping centre, where, after another long kiss, he got out. Rachel drove off.

The bastard then walked casually to another parked car and he drove off as well. My stupor was replaced by anger, an anger I had not felt since primary school when the school yard bully decided that it was my turn to donate my lunch to him. He was a huge kid, much bigger than me and walked around with an attitude that he could do as he pleased. While I always watched from a distance his stand-over antics, I nonetheless wished I was bigger and more confident to do something about him. So now it was my turn.

"Give me your lunch Tommy Tucker! Ha. I like that! Give me your tucker Tommy Tucker."

With trembling voice, I replied, "No. Get your own. This is mine."

He wasn't used to being refused and paused for a few seconds. He towered over me and shouted, "Give me your lunch NOW!"

The shouting is what made me angry. No one ever shouted in our house. I was not used to this level of ill-feeling towards me. Later, when reflecting on this incident, I was always amazed by my lack of fear. It was just anger, a red raging anger! This lunch was mine. My mum had bought special chocolate sprinkles from the delicatessen just for my lunch. In Holland, it is a real treat to spread these on fresh bread and oodles of butter. I was actually really looking forward to today's lunch. It beat the usual Vegemite sandwiches. This time when I replied, it was with an almost detached calm voice. Later, when recalling the incident, my classmates couldn't believe how calm and determined I acted. They said that they could see menace in my face. If only John, the bully, saw it in time!

"I said no. Get your own."

He then tried to grab my hair, which was quite long then. I had seen him do this countless times to his other victims, so I knew what he planned. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As his arm came out, I quickly stood up while extending my left arm, the non-lunch arm. I have big hands, another legacy of my Dutch heritage. My left hand, bunched into a fist as I was rising. It connected with John's mouth and nose with all of my body's rising motion. The crunch I heard when it all connected is a sound I will never forget. John's eyes opened wide in shock and his mouth moved soundlessly open and closed rhythmically, much like a fish. Then he collapsed.

He was writhing around on the ground, groaning when I crouched down beside him. Again, with a calm, quiet voice, I said right into one of his ears, "I said, no, but, if you really need lunch so badly, here it is!"

I bunched up my sandwiches, my delicious sandwiches, the lunch I was really looking forward to and stuffed them into his now bleeding mouth. I don't think he could bite anything at that point, because I noticed a few loose teeth wobbling at the front of his mouth. I continued to rub and squash the sandwiches into his mouth, until a duty teacher pulled me off him. The cheers from the surrounding kids were so loud, I almost didn't hear what the teacher said.

"Tom! What on earth has gotten into you? Into the office, now!"

The adrenaline wore off as I was marched back to face my doom. The office secretary saw me stagger in and only just caught me as I slumped down into bawling mess. I didn't understand at that young age, the feeling of real anger. My life had always been cruisy, surrounded by calm and happy people.

That anger was not experienced by me again, in all those years, until now.

I followed this prick back to where he lived. He lived in quite a well-appointed house, not far from the shopping centre in fact. The place was a mansion. The design was something out of Home Beautiful. Perfect roof lines, delicate colour shadings and large imposing windows behind wide verandahs, made this house speak loudly one particular word to anyone who saw it. That word was, "Wealth!" The landscaped gardens only added to this conversation.

I took in his appearance now. He looked about the same age as Rachel and myself, with dark black hair and a very fit, toned build. I would swear that he was of Mediterranean heritage, because of this thick black hair and swarthy complexion. The clothes he wore were obviously quite expensive. They almost looked tailored. The way he swaggered out of his car to the front door of his house, spoke of the arrogance of this bastard. I had met his type before on job sites around the country. They approached everything around them as if it was there just to please them. They often treated those around them with disdain. I had no time for entitled pricks like these, but there was a special hate reserved for this bastard.

With a growing sense of dread, another detail entered my mind. I had seen it, but in my dulled state of thinking, it had not fully registered. When Rachel first picked him up, he had that one-day Mediterranean growth of black hair. I always laughingly called it 'the terrorist look' when I saw it on workers I came in contact with. When I saw him again, he was clean-shaven.

"The fucker!" I said aloud. "The dirty piece of pond scum. Now it all makes sense." I was about to exit the car and confront the fucker (pardon the pun!) when a smartly dressed woman exited the front door. They seemed to know each other. How could I tell? Well, they gave each other a perfunctory kiss on the cheeks! He hastily retreated into the house while she pottered around in the front yard. She was soon joined by a mini-me version of herself, obviously her daughter. The daughter looked vaguely familiar. Another detail to sort out later. They spoke to each other and laughed a lot about some unheard incident.

Time to leave. I knew all I needed to know. My meeting with this prick would have to happen later. Angry as I was, I wasn't going to belt the shit out of him in front of his wife and young daughter. Not only was my wife cheating on me with this loser, but he was also cheating on his own wife(?) and daughter. What a low life. How can one human do things to other humans that they know will cause pain and hurt, especially when there was no history of ill feeling? I could never understand that, but I had an inkling that I was to find out what this experience was like. This fucker was going to pay!

I had things to do.

The time away was to be a blessing in disguise. I could do what needed to be done without having to make excuses at home. Unfortunately, the same pattern of behaviour was followed by the two cheaters for each day that I was away. Now I didn't have to follow them everywhere. I knew what was happening.

The usual list of pre-divorce cautions were attended to. Credit cards, super annuation beneficiaries changed, payroll deposits re-directed, utility company details altered, phone plans cancelled. You know all of the usual stuff! The plethora of web-based information and self-help sites was a huge help, but a sad indictment on the state of marriage in our world. I made an appointment with a divorce lawyer. It was very strange how these lawyers described themselves as 'family lawyers' when the majority of their work resulted in the breakup of families. Go figure!

Papers were prepared, but the service of them was delayed until I was ready.

I arranged for a private investigator, on that first day, at some expense because of the time-sensitive nature of my request, to fully document one day of Rachel's infidelity. I wanted documented evidence of the shitty behaviour displayed by these two.

I also needed to speak with Megan. She was our daughter and apart from myself and her mother, would be the other person most impacted by what I was about to do.

I now wished I hadn't. If I thought that this situation was already bad and devastating to my marriage to Rachel, the destruction of our family unit, my self esteem and worth as a husband, I was sorely mistaken!

"Hi Megan. We need to talk. It's about your mum and me," were the first words to exit my mouth as I entered her unit. "This is not going to be pretty, so we better both sit down. Don't worry, it's not about you. It's about your mother and me."

"Dad, you look like shit. What's happened? Oh crap. You know don't you? I'm sorry dad, but it's not just about you and mum. It does also involve me."

At this point she dissolved into tears and hugged me tightly. She wouldn't let go as she continued trying to talk. Eventually I just had to return the hug and quieten her down until she could control her sobs.

"Megan, no. It's nothing to do with you. It will affect you, I mean us as a family, but it isn't your fault. Hush baby daughter. What I'm about to tell you is really only between myself and your mother. I have to tell you what is about to happen, so that you can be prepared for all the shit that is going to hit the fan soon. Nothing for you needs to change, except our family will look a little different in the future."

This didn't calm her at all. If anything it brought on new fits of sobbing and hugging.

When she calmed again, she pulled slightly apart from me and looked at me with tear-filled, red eyes.

"Dad, what I'm about to tell you is something that I have kept inside since I was a rebellious teenager. You remember the time I went completely off the rails? I could tell you were extremely worried about me, but I didn't care."

I nodded and said, "I sure do Megs. It was the most stressful time of our lives."

"Sorry dad. There was a reason I went goth and all of the other stupid behaviours. It wasn't just normal teenage angst. What I'm about to tell you is going to hurt you. I know. The knowledge hurt me incredibly for years. I think you'd better sit down. I'm going to get us each a strong drink."

I was speechless. Here I was about to let my daughter know why I was divorcing her mother and I get hit with a promise that what I am about to hear will be devastating. I sat and quietly waited. The long glass of bourbon was accepted unconsciously as were the first two huge swallows of the burning liquid.

"Yes dad. We do need to talk. We need to talk about me and we need to talk about mum. Mum first. You have obviously found out that mum cheated on you many years ago. How old am I? Well, that many years ago plus nine months."

I was about to interrupt and clarify what I knew, but Megan shushed me and continued.

"When I was about thirteen, you know, hormones, boys, self esteem, cruel girlfriends? Well one of my bitchy girlfriends kept on at me about how my skin colour didn't quite match your's or mum's. This got to me. It got to me so much that I started to obsess about it. I coupled this with the fact that mum always insisted that I dye my hair."

"What?" I interrupted. "What do you mean, dye your hair?" This conversation was getting weirder and weirder!

"Mum always dyed my hair. She told me that she had been doing it since I was one. I have seen the baby photos dad. My hair is naturally pitch black."

The pit of my stomach was feeling like it was getting deeper and deeper. I could feel my face becoming paler and that my blood pressure was dropping. "No! Surely not?"

Megan rescued me from falling in a complete faint by insisting I take two more swallows of my bourbon. The strong biting liquid settled me somewhat.

"Drink up dad. There's more to come. I'm sorry. I really am. I need to tell you the truth. You don't know how much I have dreaded this moment since the day I found out myself. Drink up. There's plenty more of that here in this bottle.

Dad, mum had an affair. She had it with an old university friend after you guys were married. All I can say, dad, bluntly, is that you weren't the sperm donor when I was conceived."

Here she paused and refilled my glass. Luckily she immediately hugged me tightly and sobbed into my shoulder. That beautiful hug which I so loved during our happy times, now only resulted in a sopping wet shoulder and feelings of utter emptiness and hopelessness. I am not sure who sobbed the most, but at that point I knew I could never feel lower than right then. Our mutual hug was probably the only thing keeping me in the present.

"Dad! Dad! I think I know how you're feeling, but I need you to know that I love you more than anything. You are my dad. You always have been my dad and you always will be no matter where my DNA comes from. Don't you remember that I always called you my 'special dad'? That's because you are and always have been.

Way back then, I kept annoying mum about my concerns until finally, once when you were away, she confessed to me about her affair with dickhead."

My eyes met her's at this derogatory name for her physical father.

"Yes dad. That is what he will always be to me. To me, he will always be that 'dickhead'. The one that shot his cheating sperm into mum's vagina and attacked a fertile egg until I was conceived. That is how I have rationalised the fact of my conception. You are my father, not him.

I met him once. I think mum arranged it, pretending to be accidental. By that time I was in my goth stage. I think the whole weird behaviour thing was brought on by my feelings if insecurity and disgust at what mum had done. I even hated you for a while, thinking that you must have been some sort of whimp for allowing mum to stray like that. Eventually, I realised that you didn't know and I replaced the feeling of anger at you with one of love and sadness. I determined to make your relationship with me a loving one, as it should be. I have never really forgiven mum.

Anyway, I looked at dickhead and he looked at me. I could see that he wasn't impressed with what he saw. I mean, nothing scares a man more than seeing a black haired, pale skin, skinny teenage girl wearing black leather pants, jacket, silver chain anklets, bracelets, black mascara eye shadow. I think you get the picture. Mum had tried to make me dress differently, but, you know me at that stage. It wasn't happening. His sneer while he said to mum, "What a disappointment," never left his face.

I remember looking back with just as much attitude and replying to him, but also mum, "Scumbag. You're nothing but a cheating scumbag who hangs out with whores! You couldn't get your own girlfriend, probably because you're such an asshole, so you preyed on married women. Ones that wanted to act like whores and sluts in secret from their husbands."

He took off in a huff and mum bundled me back into the car. She let me have it all the way back home. She told me in no uncertain terms what would happen to our family if I ever told you, or even hinted to you about what I knew. We would be a split family living on the breadline. I wouldn't get to see you because she would make sure of that through the courts. My life would be miserable.

I'm sorry dad, but my teenage brain couldn't handle that level of responsibility. I decided to do as mum wished and not say a word."

Megan again got a twinkle in her eye and continued, "But I always called you my 'special dad' after that. I could see that it got straight to your heart, that title. Mum hated it and always looked at me strangely when I said it. Little old rebellious me had found a way to stick it to mum, while keeping my promise to her and at the same time giving you some of the love and respect you deserved. Drink up dad. You have survived the great reveal, now we need to talk about what is going to happen."

"Megan, I came here to tell you that I will be divorcing your mum. Everything is already set in motion. I just didn't want it to come out of the blue for you. After what you have told me, a great many things make sense. I had no idea that you weren't my physical daughter. No! Please don't get me wrong Megs. You are always my daughter and to hear what you have had to carry for so long and how you handled it makes me even more proud of you than I already was. My heart is bursting right now. The feelings of pain, hurt, betrayal, anger, emptiness and despair are, luckily, balanced by the love you have shown me as your father."

We again hugged tightly and mutually felt that love and togetherness that was the measure of our relationship as father and daughter.

"But Megan, dear Megs, now YOU need to have a drink." I handed her her glass.

"Drink Megs. There's more. I have recently found out that your mum didn't stop the affair after you were born. She has continued it and is continuing it now. And I mean right now, as we speak. Right now she is having sex with 'dickhead', as you call him, in our own home."

"No dad no! How could she do this to you? To us? I know she is my mum, but right now she is just a cheating fucking slut of a whore!"

"Megan! Enough of that. Even though I agree in every way with what you just said, she is still your mother and always will be. It's ok for me to call her a cheating fucking slut of a whore because she will soon no longer be my wife!"

We both looked at each other at that point and though it wasn't my intention at the beginning of that outburst, I started laughing. Soon Megan joined in and we laughed until the tears of mirth washed away the tears of sorrow.

I think it was after the next glass of bourbon each that we again became serious.

"What is his name Megs? Your dick head sperm donor I mean. Do you know?"

"Yes dad I do. He is Miguel Rodrigues. His family has always been rich. Apparently, his father started a high-end car import company and dickhead manages it for him. Mum and him were an item in university. I think mum smelt money at the time, but he dumped her when his family wasn't happy with his choice. They obviously never got over each other. Apart from that, there's not much to add."

"I know where he lives Megs. The bastard has a wife and daughter. Son of a bitch! Now I know why the daughter looked familiar! She is the spitting image of you at that age. Sorry Megs, but you have a half-sister who looks just like you, just younger and, by the way she has black hair, not the brown I remember yours to be at that age."

"Dad, surely this day can't get any weirder. What are you going to do? I should say, what are WE going to do? You're not in this alone dad. I know mum cheated, I mean is cheating on you, but she has betrayed me as well. We can't let this stand."

"Megs. Let me sort it out. As I said before, everything is set to deal with your mum. I will need to re-think what happens about bastard, I mean dickhead."

Upon arriving home at the expected end of my re-charge time away, Rachel greeted me with open arms. She went for the big full body hug and mouth kiss which I rebuffed rudely. To say she was taken aback was an understatement. She physically recoiled from me and asked, "Babe? What's wrong? Has something happened?"

I didn't want to reveal what I knew just yet, so I pushed the anger down and using my best poker face, replied, "Just something at work as usual Rach. I thought my time away would be good for me, but now I just found out that more problems have occurred in the times I was away." After I said it, I realised what I said, so quickly added, "I mean while I was away this time. There will be quite a few things that I will need to sort out and might mean more time away. Sorry."

Rachel looked at me in a quizzical way. She obviously didn't quite know how to take what I just said. Eventually, she must have settled on an innocent interpretation, probably because she and Miguel had been getting away with their infidelities for so long without suspicion. Why would today be different, right?