Most days he would be gone before we woke up and arrive home shortly before dinner.
Mom would rush to greet him, tearing off her oven mitts so she could take his briefcase. “Dad’s had a long day and he’s very tired.” If we were too loud or demanding, he’d be quick to let us know. “They know to respect me there.” I’ve read the books he wrote about my early childhood and wondered who this man was that claimed to have held me on his lap.
There were hundreds of emails from men with equally sexual screen names. It wasn’t my own deception, but it made my life and my identity feel like a lie.
The next year I began to suffer from excruciating stomach pain that left me unable to eat.
Dad was equally passionate about promoting family values and lobbied against gay marriage at the state capitol.
He also served as an elder at our Southern Baptist church while running the PR department of a Fortune 500 company.
To accept the truth was to lose everything I’d ever known and I was afraid of what I would be left with. I hid the secret inside of me but it began to take a toll.
First there were blinding headaches so intense I’d be curled up on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet.