It was that dreary time of January.
That time after Epiphany but before Valentine's Day.
That time when every display in every store is a riot of red, and pink, and hearts.
Ordinary time, the Church calls it.
*
It was still Christmas break.
We were in the car on the way home from the grocery store when my mom said -
*
You have to tell him, honey. He's your father.
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She meant tell him that I was gay.
I just nod and look away from her and lean my forehead against the passenger side window and stare outside.
And I think.
*
She doesn't know what she's asking.
Tell him?
How can I tell him?
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I was too afraid.
What if he kicked my ass?
He could.
He was bigger than me.
Stronger.
He had been since the day we met.
And as far as I could tell, he always would be.
*
He was in Vietnam fighting a war when I was born.
And he was away for much of the time I was really little.
A uniformed stranger who would sometimes come home and sleep with mommy.
The handsome man with big hands who would sweep me off of my feet and up onto his shoulders.
The big muscled stranger that my sisters were so happy to see.
I would try to stomp around in his very big shoes.
And marvel at his funny big boots with so many laces.
*
When I was older.
And we would go camping, the whole family.
He would always spend a couple of days on these trips with just me.
Him and me.
No girls.
*
We would hike until we found some private spot.
And we would play.
And skinny dip.
And lay naked in the sun.
Only going back to the women when it got dark.
*
And my first dates were with him.
Saturday nights.
Him and me in just our underwear watching TV.
BJ and the Bear.
*
She couldn't be serious.
*
Tell him?
And risk losing him?
No fucking way!
That's what I think.
*
But, I only nod -
and I turn my head, and look out the passenger side window at the traffic.