The Day my Father Cried

“One more week dad! Please!” my sister asked for what probably was the millionth time.
My father let out a long sigh before he responded.

“Ana… we are home.”

The van taxi pulled up to the curb next to our home, 769 Grevane Road.

“It’s not fair,” Anna muttered under her breath.

Normally I would beg alongside my sister, but I couldn’t, not this time. See, we did not exactly receive consent from our mother to fly over to Saskatoon where my father’s family resided. After weeks of pleading, my father gave up. One day when my mother was at work he told us to pack our bags, and next thing we knew we were on a flight to Saskatoon to see our cousins for the first time. Prior to our departure, we called our mother to inform her that we were on a plane headed to Saskatoon under our father’s instruction. When she did not pick up, we left her a message.

That night that we arrived at our cousin’s home, my sister and I slept in the basement bedroom where we were visited by two police officers who were sent by mother back home in Toronto. Of course, I was not aware of this until I woke up the next morning, and my father told me what happened the night before. At first I was in shock, but luckily I got over it quickly and was able to enjoy the remainder of my vacation. We tried calling my mother again several times throughout the two weeks we were away, but she never answered. Apart from that, we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and the two weeks flew by. But now were headed back. I had the best time getting to know my cousins; I am so glad my dad took us there. I can’t wait to tell my mother about all the fun I had in Saskatoon. Now that I think of it, I really did miss her.  As we approached the door to our home I saw the flickering of lights coming from our home’s kitchen. As my father fiddled with his keys, I began to think about which story I would tell my mother first. Now that I think of it, I really missed her.

“It’s not working, my key is not opening the door!” my father exclaimed.

I could sense anger slowly overcoming my father as he continued to tug and pull at the doorknob for a minute more. Not too much longer, my father proceeded to break the door open. I, along with my sisters who are six and eight years old, were in utter shock and disbelief, but nothing could prepare us for what was to come. At this point, my father was fuming. My mother yelled at him for taking us to visit his family without her consent and something else. I always knew there was something my mother was angry about, but for some reason my parents kept it between them. Soon enough, they were involved in another one of their heated arguments.

My sisters were terrified; they ran to the bedroom and closed the door shut so they could not hear our parents fighting. I, on the other hand sat down on the couch in the living room. My father took a seat across from me. Before he could get comfortable, the police were at our door. As soon as I caught I glimpse of them, the reality of the situation overcame me and I burst into tears. In almost no time, my father and I were both crying hysterically. Before this point, I had never seen my father cry before! I noticed that he only broke out in tears when he saw me crying.

“Stop crying Leonore!” my father pleaded.

But it was too late, I, along with my sisters would not settle down for a few hours after this point. The police were here for my father. There was absolutely no doubt about that. As my father made his way out of our home, he told me not to worry, that he would only be gone for three days. He also told me not to believe what my mother was about to tell me. I did not know what he was talking about, but I promised him I would not. I continued to beg my father to stay, I didn’t want him to leave because first he’s my dad, and second he didn’t do anything wrong!

Once my father entered the police car, I slowly returned to the couch, still weeping. My mother who was also crying sat us all down so she could tell us something. She informed my sisters and I that of a love child that my father kept hidden from us. If I wasn’t already devastated by then, I was now. A million questions were racing through my head. Was this what my father warned me I was not supposed to believe? Is it true? Do I really have a half brother? I could not believe what was happening! I knew my parents had their issues but I did not know it was this serious. While at the age of ten, this was much more than I could handle, I wanted answers, and I wanted them now. I ran to my bedroom which I shared with my sisters with the home phone in my hand. I must have called my father a hundred times. He never picked up the phone.