Rebecca Butler had wanted her mom to to leave her dad after he was unfaithful. She is thankful now that didn’t happen.
—
Growing up, I always knew my dad was cheating on my mom. I can’t tell you when I first realized it. All I can say is that it is something I always knew in my bones. He would be just a bit too flirtatious with the hostess at the restaurant. The lady serving our steaks would linger by his elbow for too long, in my childish mind. He would wander off unexpectedly and take what seemed like forever to return. It just bugged me. He was the breadwinner. We saw him so rarely. Why was he always so absent? My young mind begged for an answer. It’s not like my mom wasn’t staggeringly beautiful. She was. She always turned heads. Ok, her hair was a bit lacking in the fashionable department. Even in my youth, I could detect that. But she had huge, intriguing eyes, a smile to die for and she was statuesque, not to mention kind, unnervingly kind. Why my dad seemed uninterested was beyond me. I blamed it on my sister. Surely everything wrong in life was her fault. That was the way my juvenile mind worked.
One time, when I had just begun high school, my dad came home from a rodeo function. He was involved in a steering committee for the rodeo. This was an honor and kind of a big deal in our urban cowboy town. He came home stumbling drunk. Mom was already in bed. I wasn’t. I was a teenager. As teens know, you don’t sleep much. It’s biological. I wandered downstairs to see what all the noise was about. I found my dad crashing around the kitchen, angel food cake in one hand, milk sloshing around in the other. He was unable to look at me. At first, I was mildly amused, watching him sway in a drunken stupor. I stood across the kitchen and surveyed the scene. I almost giggled. That was when I noticed his collar was undone and there was lipstick up his neck and all over his face. Then I saw his belt unfastened. I said one word, “Gross.” He looked up and saw me. His jaw dropped and the half chewed cake tumbled to the floor. At that moment, my mom came around the kitchen corner. “Go to bed, Rebecca,” she said.
I shirked up the stairs, somewhat disgusted, somewhat satisfied. Finally, she was going to nail him for cheating on her and hold his feet to the fire! ‘That man deserves to be roasted alive!,’ I would think hotly.
But the next morning, there were no fireworks. As I rose for school and dressed and made leave, their bedroom door stayed closed. That night at dinner, there was no speak of divorce or separation or even mention of a fight. ‘Ugh!’ I would think in disgust. ‘Have you no self respect?’ I would silently beg of my mother. As soon as possible, I would hastily leave and seek refuge at a friend’s house, only coming home when my presence was demanded.
One time, I was 16 now, a full-fledged teen, we went to dinner at a favorite chinese restaurant, just me, my mom and my father. For some weird reason, I liked the three of us together on occasion. On the way home, I don’t know what compelled me to do it but I reached into the pocket of his passenger seat. I pulled out a large black lace slip. I held it up without saying a word. My dad’s eyes grew huge in the rearview mirror. My mother turned around and saw what I was holding. She momentarily lost it, “What is that, you son of a bitch?!” Dad started laughing. “Oh, come on now,” he said. “You can’t possibly believe I knew that was in there,” he said incredulously. My mother held her ground. I couldn’t believe the gall he had. It became awkward in the car as he denied the obvious evidence and my mother refused to budge. I intervened. “How else did this get here?!” I screamed. I was losing it. Mom shhh’d me. We were pulling into our driveway. “Go inside,Rebecca,” she commanded. I was crying. “But mom,” I begged. “Go,” she said.
I went upstairs to my room. I fell asleep. The next morning it was as if nothing had ever happened. I was disheartened. I was mortified. No one ever spoke of it again.
♦◊♦
When my mom became ill with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease), my father took care of everything. Yes, he had his days playing cards with his friends at the country club. But most of the time, he was running from medical supply store to grocery store collecting anything she needed. He never left. He never travelled. He always came home and held her hand as they watched a movie. He doted on her. He sang to her. He played her favorite tunes and tried to manipulate a machine in the pool that would allow her to float alongside him and enjoy the sunsets the way they once did. He never left her side. In the end, he was honorable.
My mentor and friend who served as my mother’s shaman said that if he had not cheated on her when he did, he might not have been as loyal as he was in the end. We’ve never acknowledged what I know about his transgressions. I don’t know how to bring it up. So I will do it here. What I would tell him if I could speak to this freely would be: I forgive you, dad. I forgive you for cheating on mom. I am grateful that you two were able to weather your infidelity. I appreciate that you were there for her in the end. I acknowledge the integrity that required. Thank you for being such a stand up guy. In the end, that is what you were. I honor that in you. I honor your bond. I am grateful for the role models you ultimately served. Happy Father’s Day.
Much love.
—
photo: juliejordanscott / flickr