Screwing Around

 

Ok, it's time to bulldoze some porcelain. Let's bring out the heavy artillery and blow up some taboos: Guys screwing around? No doubt about it, but ask yourself why. I'm not saying that as an excuse, but merely as a sobering thought. Action casuses reaction. The sad part is, women are no better, and I speak from personal experiences (note the plural tense, here). But let's bring it close up and personal. Let's take it to the family. My own. No better or no worse than most others, I'm sure. Only difference is I'm honest about it and not afraid of taboo's.

My Dad had three sons. Supposedly! At least my mother gave birth to three kids. But are they all my Dad's? That's the million dollar question that was never asked, hence never answered, and now it's too late. But now I'm getting older, have matured a little bit (I promise - just a little bit) and I am now starting to how how the missing pieces in the puzzle are to be put together and as I do that, the big picture becomes more and more clear to me.

As far as I am concerned, my Dad was the best Dad on planet Earth and a rock solid foundation in my life, and he gave everything for his family. My Mother? Well, let's just say "not an easy lady". Neurotic and emotional. A stay-at-home mom who virtually never (with the exception of a couple of months of her life) held "a real outside job" (no offense to stay-at-home moms) in her life, because she just couldn't handle other people's opinions, and the fact that not everybody thought like her and had the same opinions as her, clearly had a debilitating effect on her.

So here's my Dad, working himself to death for his wife, building a house for his future family and doing absolutely everything to give a comfortable life to his wife, his future family and his...three (?) sons.

Doing so, in Denmark, means working virtually every single day and when not work, being the handyman he was, he was in his large garage doing "extra jobs" that would bring in extra money (that the tax man never found out - more likely just ignored). Nobody had more commitment to his family than my Dad.

Wife complains he's never home and works too much (doesn't mind the money and the house, though), so they end up having my oldest brother (I'm the baby of the three of us). More mouths to feed, more bodies to keep clothed, school expenses and all the other stuff, meaning more work to scratch together and income that'll support all the family's needs.

Also, more time spend at work means more complaints that he's never home. So I guess my mother gets "lonely", because the second son - the middle one - looks absolutely nothing like the first one, and in personality, he's "on a different planet". First son is a true carbon copy of my Day, from the blond hair and blue eyes to the facial features and beyond. Zero question who's the father. Second son...enormous question. Dark hair, dark eyes and what would later become an evil/spiteful/hateful personality. But back in those days, there was no DNA testing (my mother's good luck, I supose), so my Dad bites the bullet and treats him with the same love and respect he does the first one. But boy, do I ever understand my Dad, now, and the nagging doubts he must have had, and in a small town like Dinkyville, 1961, the rumours must have been flying and a lot of whispering behind closed doors. I can not prove that my mother was screwing around, but if you see a basket full of apples and then there's a single orange in there, you  know they are not from the same tree. But my Dad treated every fruit like he had grown it himself. Cared for it and nurtured it.

Now, I'm not sure if my Mom felt exposed/found out, or if she was just "making mends" for screwing around, but then Brian comes around, and the time line for the birth of the three sons, are worth noting here. First son born in 1956. Second "son" born in 1961. Five years apart. And then, boom! 18 months after the birth of the second "son", Brian is born. I'm not sure what that one looks like to you, but to me it sure as hell smells like an attempt to right the wrongs. You fucked around and had another man's kid, so now you are desperately trying to save your already lost honour and giving your husband another carbon copy son with blue eyes and blond hair, you think is somehow going to "make people forget". Sorry, but that's just not going to happen. The word is out and a verdict has been passed down, proof or not.

Now, you don't need the rest of the family saga, here. But suffice to tell you that the years and decades ahead, made the case quite obvious, but you don't really think about that when you are just a kid.

It was always my Mom who was doling out the corporal punishment. I'm sure she felt she had her reasons. On one occasion she did, but my Dad has never, ever hit me in any way, shape or from, and I am immensely proud to have the same "claim to fame'. We had other ways to get our point through to our kids, but violence has never been a part of our "education regimen". You lead by example and your kids will learn from you. Both my Dad and I are proof of that. But when it comes to screwing around, women are just a bad as men, as far as I am concerned. Plenty of married women have proven that point to me. It's just the guys who get the bad rep.

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