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    I was lost as our teachers babbled on about alegbra. What was really going on with dad?

    I felt as though I was within a story, when the hero tries to decipher everything that was laid out for him, like a giant mystery. Unfortunately, I wasn't in a story. I was for real...

    Slowly, the day at school ended, and I came back on home, ready to interrogate my dad on a list of questions.

    "Dad..." I started, throwing my back pack into the closet and then turning to him. He was laying on a couch in the living room, his body slumped and his head resting against a cushion. He didn't reply, so I walked closer to him and repeated,

    "Dad." His head slowly turned to me as he replied with a depressing voice,

    "Yes, son?" I swallowed. Something was wrong, and I found that I couldn't break my questions to him so quickly. So I said,

    "I--Dad, is mom all right?" Slowly, he heaved himself off the sofa, and, lurching over to me,

    "She's suffering a minor concussion...but when she gets out of it, she'll be suffering more than that." I watched as dad suddenly leaned on against a counter in the kitchen.

    "You don't mean--" Dad interrupted, with gritted teeth and tear swelled eyes,

    "The doctors called me an hour after you left to school. Son, your mom has been tested. She's been drinking."

    -------------------------------------------------

    "Drinking?" I repeated, but more as a question. Needless to say, I was in a state of shock. "But why would she do that?" He got off the counter and started to walk closer to me.

    "Tom," he said, looking at me with affectionate eyes, "I found your friend's diary as I was cleaning your room. We need to talk." Oh, what a dad I had. A dad who keeps secrets, a dad who dodges questions, a dad who barges into to private things.

    He motioned me to a chair at the kitchen table, and we both sat down. He opened his mouth, but for five seconds, nothing came out. Then he said,

    "I read the diary, though you made it a little difficult." I remembered. I ripped up the diary pages. "There's something I need to tell you."

    "There's a lot of things you need to tell me," I muttered under my breath. He folded his hands on the table, and began,

    "16 years ago, I fell in love. I fell in love with a girl at my college. Two years later, after graduating from college, we got married, and then had a baby."

    "Me, of course," I said, tapping my fingers against the hard wood table. To my surprise, he shook his head, and said,

    "No, Tom. Mary. The baby was named...Mary."

    ---------------------------------------------------

    For the second time that day, I was in shock.

    "What?" I aked, because surely I had heard something wrong.

    "Mary Archibald," he repeated, including the last name to let me know it wasn't a coincidence. I stood up defiantly, and said,

    "And you kept this a secret all my life...why?" He patted the table, and told me,

    "Sit down. I'm explaining." I gave him a snarl, but sat on back down, crossing my arms, ready to pout like a little baby. He continued,

    "As I assume you know, the reason Mr. Archibald--me--got divorced with Mrs. Archibald was because I lost my job and started to come home drunk. But that wasn't the full reason. I had fallen in love...again." A tear came down from his left eye as he went on pitifully,

    "I had fallen in love with your mother. I kept the secret for a couple of months, but she figured out what was going on between us, how I got drunk at parties as I flirted with her. And that's when we got divorced. And that's also when I legally changed my last name to Jacobs...not wanting you to know the truth." My face was skewed as I asked,

    "Did mom know this? That you were already married when you were flirting with her?" My dad looked down at the table like a puppy dog as he responded sorrowfully,

    "...No. I had only told her my last name after I had gotten a divorce, and after I had changed it. She had no idea what I had really done. We got married, and then we bore...you." He looked back up atme, and said with grimance,

    "But my wanting for more was still in my heart, and periodically, every couple months, I went off and tried to bring love back between Ms. Archibald and I. I went there, wandered around, and came back to the house at around midnight. Then, I got up at 3 am, making sure none of you guys noticed me." I gave him a harsh glare, and growled with a stiffened voice,

    "So there was no such thing as business trips." He shook his head, and said,

    "There was no such thing as my engineering job, either. All the money we have is from gambling."

    "And how long did you think you could keep this all a secret?" He didn't answer, and I rose up. I started to walk over to the room, as my dad called out,

    "Tom, I'm so sorry. I--I just want you to know I love you." I stopped, and then retorted,

    "Well, I just want you to know that I don't care, and I hate you!" And I stomped on up to my room, weeping over my pillow. What dad did was unforgiveable.

    God had some competition on the hate list.