Growing Up The Outside Child

Friday, June 16, 2017

Written By: Felecia Causey
Model: Actavius Surls
(Actavius Surls is only a model for this post. She is not the character or affiliated with anyone in the story.)

When I was growing up all I knew was my mother. There was a gentlemen that would come in and out our house, every weekend. I was a kid, and I didn't understand, but every time he came over he would bring me toys and candy. He would never stay the night, except one time he stayed over three nights in a row.

I remember one day I was getting off the bus, and the bus driver asked me "who was my father". I responded exactly like my mother told me if someone asked personal business, "you will have to ask my mother". My mother didn't show any expression on her face, when I explained to her what happened. That same night I heard her crying in her room, while I was in bed.

It wasn't until high school I was picked on, and I found out, that the mystery man was suppose to be my father.  He didn't come over, when I had gotten older, because I couldn't be bought with candy or toys.  Mom would go out every weekend to meet him.

One day I was approached by three teenagers, that was calling my mom and myself all kind of names. I argued back with them as the crowd watched.  The one I assume was the oldest pointed
 at me and said "even if our dad is your father, you will never be our sister". They also let me know he would never leave their mom for mines. I felt like someone had punched me in my chest.

I went home in tears and devastated. This was the day my mom confessed my father was a married, and she has been having an affair with him for over 19 years.

Anytime I would make someone mad, they were eager to throw it in my face, that I was a bastard or my mom was a home wrecker.

After a year of finishing high school, the man who was my father was accidentally shot in the head during a hunting accident.

My mother didn't attend the funeral, but told me, I should go.  When I got there I was starred at, so I tried to sit at the very back of the church. I sat and watched as his wife and children walked down the isle. I read the obituary and read as they told about his family, but not me the outside child.

I left there hurt and broken, so I decided not to visit the grave site. I did try reaching out to the siblings, because although they were ugly to me, I wanted a relationship with them. I was not even accepted into his side of the family. I didn't know much about this mystery man, who was suppose to be my father. I some days feel bitter towards my mother, and then I also found myself having pity on her. I do know she loved him, because I would catch her looking at his photo on the obituary, and cry. I am indeed his child, but to his wife, his kids, and his family I will be considered as the outside child that must stay in the dark.

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