Daddy Traded For A New Mommy, Too

Enjoying lunch together was a favorite time of the day for this group of friends. Some of them had come to know each other from their very first day of kindergarten more than seven years ago. Their moms could gather and compare photo albums and literally see how their kids had grown up together. Indeed, sometimes their moms did get together. But not to share photos. They got together virtually to set up play dates and birthday parties and make schedules for dads to drive the kids to and from camps that were hours away or to the mall where they could take art classes or to after school activities so they could learn to swim or play the violin.

Almost all of their moms worked as: an accountant, an engineer, a restaurant manager, a clerk, a bus driver, a teacher or some other. The mom’s justified working away from home so they could pay to live in Silicon Valley and provide for whatever it was their kids needed. Though what the kids thought they needed seldom coincided with what their moms thought.

The group sometimes compared notes about home life and sometimes they talked about their futures. But most often they talked about growing up together, their experiences of going to camp in their previous school, or sitting quietly, not permitted to talk, at lunch, or seeing Jot get in trouble … again. He was always in trouble. They also talked about life at their new school.

“I hated homeroom this morning.” Rose steamed.

“Why?” asked Aimi.

“We had to give introductions and tell them what we want to do in the future.”

“And that’s a problem because ...?”

“Well, everybody knows you want to be a teacher, Aimi. You’ve been saying that forever,” added Rachel.

“Well, I had to tell my class that my dad is dead,” grumbled Rose.

“Dead?! But …” Skeeter tried to ask but caught himself before he thought it too bold to continue.

“Yeah. I told them my dad is dead. He was the coolest dad ever. But he died.”

“Uh … how?” asked Rachel. 

“Well, my dad is a lot older than my mom. And, no, he didn’t die from old age. My dad was in the military. I don’t know, like ‘a hundred years ago’ he used to say. When he was in the Navy he was sent overseas, you know, like, to protect the American way and fight for ‘truth and justice’ and all that. He left right after my second older brother, er, half brother was born. His wife, not my mom, had to take care of them while he was gone. Well, he was parachuting over a desert or something in Arabia. And while he was floating down, he got shot. No kidding. He had to go into the hospital for like 9 months in Germany or somewhere like that. When he got home, his wife, not my mom, was well, I don’t know how to say this right, she had another boyfriend. I guess she thought my dad died. I dunno. Anyway. When my dad saw his wife, not my mom, with her new boyfriend, he killed him. Yeah. Who would think that a really cool dad could also be a murderer? But it happened that way. So my dad went to jail for like 17 years or some really long time. When he got out of jail he met my mom at a church or somewhere religious or something. They kind of fell in love and eventually got married … and then there was me. Well … we went white water rafting last summer and we had to take this bus ride to get to the top of the mountain so we could be up high to come back down in the river. Well … and this is where you’ll know that my dad is really cool. The bus got too close to the side of the mountain on this little narrow road and went tumbling over the side of the hill. Yeah. No kidding. We went rolling down the side of the hill. Windows started crashing. And there was lots of screaming. And things like water bottles and backpacks started bouncing off the walls and ceiling of the bus. People started flying all over the inside of the bus. Nobody had seat belts or anything like that on. It was really intense. Next thing I know, my dad is sprawled out over the top of the seat where I was sitting, er, now laying down. He was holding on for dear life while I was under him laying on the seat. He had the back of the seat where I was under one arm and the back of the seat in front of me under the other arm. I bounced up and down but kept hitting him in the chest and falling back down onto my seat. We rolled like a hundred times. Who has time to count during times like this? It was really intense. Oh, I think I said that. Anyway, the bus finally stopped doing the Jack and Jill thing. It wasn’t funny, but I have to express myself somehow. And it’s been a while ago anyway. It took like a couple of hours before anybody showed up. Who looks at their watch and measures time at times like this? Anyway. Some firemen and policemen, I couldn’t be sure, but they were dressed in navy blue and had helmets on, started pulling off the side of the bus. There was just one survivor. Yeah, no kidding. It was me. And it was, like, because my dad … old guy that he was … protected me from being thrown around inside the bus. That’s why I am still alive today. And I had to tell that story … again … to my class. And now to you guys … again. That’s why I hated homeroom this morning. Okay?! Got it now?!”

“Um, Rose. I saw your dad drop you off a couple of days ago out in front of school,” Levi said hesitantly.

“Well, yeah. He’s my real dad. But I hate him. You guys remember when we were in the second grade. That guy who dropped me off this morning, my real dad. Well, one day I came home from school and my mom was waiting there for me and my big sister. Mom was crying. When we asked why she just said, ‘You’re daddy left.’ It turns out my real dad, the guy you saw who dropped me off the other day got another girlfriend and loved her more than me and my sister and mom and went to be with her. I guess he got a lot of money or something from his work. Something about selling the company he started or whatever. People sell companies here in Silicon Valley where we live. Go figure. Then they get all rich and happy and stuff. Not us. Anyway. He got a lot of money and decided to trade our old car in for a new one, some kind of save-the-world electric thing. Starts with a T. Who cares? And I guess he wanted to trade for a new mommy, too. Yeah. Who would have thought?Well, the new girl friend didn’t work out he said. Now he has another new girlfriend who, believe it or not is just a few years older than my big sister, Daisy. Yeah. No kidding. I don’t care anymore. I just wish I didn’t have to deal with him. To tell the truth I’d rather have a dead fictional dad that I can love and respect than a real dad who doesn’t love me that I hate.  So. There’s that.”

All the friends sat their with their mouths hanging open … speechless.

“I told my homeroom class this morning that when I grow up, I want to be a storyteller - a writer maybe.”

The bell started ringing. Lunch was over and Rose got up and headed off to class by herself.

One by one, each returned to their afternoon class quietly, all the while scratching their heads or pointing their fingers in the air or pausing for a step, turning and looking at the lunch table and shaking their heads.

They each stared at one another in disbelief and wonder at which of Rose’s stories were true. Or maybe neither was.