Picture Source: Two men and a boy, fishing off a wharf
I thought I was used to the questions, the comments and the shrewd remarks. The teasing never got any worse nor did it settle down, it just became a kind of habit, something that I had learnt to deal with over the years.
The first day of year four had arrived; with this I had to expect new teachers, new classmates and more questions. Changing classes each year always proved a challenge, adjusting to it was challenging. Ten past three the bell goes everyday, finally home time, sprinting kids so competitively you would think it was a race, we all head towards the top gate. Parents after parent’s mothers after fathers, you had to find your parent’s who generally waited for you in the same spot everyday. For me it was different, my parent’s didn’t stand near the other parents, I never asked why but I assumed it was because I didn’t have a mum and dad like the other kids. I had two dads. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t see anything immoral with that, it is all I can recall, Christmas’, Easter’s and holidays all the photo’s I had seen were with my two dads.
It was easier when I was younger; your friends weren’t concerned about such matters. They were more thrilled that we could have two dads to help us with our soccer training. Then everything changed, I had fewer or no friends, I was being excluded. Deliberately excluded. No party invitations, or weekend sleepovers like all the other boys. It started to get to me, although who did I have to talk to about it? No one. I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I was secluded.
It plays on my mind all the time, a broken record, repeating itself, no one to blame but my dads. How did they expect me to live a normal life when I didn’t have a normal family? Not knowing whom my real parents were hurt, the possibilities consumed my thoughts. Did they look like me? Young? Old? Tall? Short? Were they still together? I knew absolutely...