Sitting in the boat my great-grandfather dubbed The Miss Lenore, both Dad and I start to relax. It's not too bad when the wind doesn't blow. It is a bearable cold tonight. The sloshing sound of the water as it rocks the boat is calming. Spending time out here is a relaxing way to end the day, especially after such a crappy week.

"Dad, what is exactly wrong with Kathleen?" I ask.

"I don't know the specifics with Kathleen. My guess is something neurological."

I look at him, surprised that he used such a fancy word. I half expected him to say something like, "She's bat shit crazy."

Dad grins. "Spend any amount of time in a hospital and you'll pick up a big word like that, too."

"Cecilly said something that kind of bothered me. She said I should have been born to someone else."

A soft low chuckle comes from deep in his throat. "That's the only thing she's ever said that I agree with."

I won't lie, his answer smarts.

"If God was a fair one, he'd never have let Kathleen and I be your parents. You would have been born to a good family with a nice house, and you'd get every thing you want."

"I don't want a lot."

"You don't ask for much. But I'm willing to bet you have a nice long list of wants."

He takes his soda can and lets the remnants drizzle out into the creek, then he places it into the bag at his feet.

"I think God gave you to me so that I would have to watch you go through all this crap. Sins of the father, suffer the children. Something like that."

He sounds drunk, talking about crazy stuff, but I know he's sober. Words are coming out in almost quiet whispers, like the slow drip of a faucet. Word by word, the shell around my dad starts to crumble. I don't know what he means, but I know better than to interrupt. He's never been so open, not like this.

"You understand what I'm saying?"

Slowly, I shake my head no.

"You are being punished for my sins."

"What sins, Dad? What did you do that was so horrible?"

He looks away and I catch the glimmering trail running the length of his cheek.

"For hating them. All those years I wished they were dead."

"Who? Who'd you hate, Dad?"

His answer makes my stomach lurch.

"Your granddad and Grandma Carolyn."

I feel like someone has sucker punched me. I knew there was anger. From the little bit I've heard about my dad's life before I was born, I figured it was rough. But never in a million years would I have expected this. This was a bomb shell.

"You didn't really hate them- did you, Dad?"

His voice shakes. "I used to pray that they'd die. Every night I would make deals with God. Take them away and I'll be good. If you make them die, I 'll stop cussing." He lets go a ragged laugh. "Never admitted that to anybody."

As open as he was just a few seconds ago, he goes silent. It is like a door shut, right before I can really see inside.

"Let's go on back." Abruptly he grabs the oars and starts rowing toward the shore. We return to the tiny strip of sand in silence. Superman has just shown me his very vulnerable Clark Kent side. I don't think it was such a great thing to see.

He helps me carry the boat back to the side of house where we stow it behind the oleander bushes. He mounts the stairs with heavy footsteps and I follow a few paces behind him. Once inside we retreat to our own rooms.

His confession still sits in my gut and my head. The horrible poison of it seems to seep into my pores. I now know why the tension is ever present when they are together. Dad is pretending. Maybe Granddad and Grandma Carolyn are pretending as well. That's why nothing has ever felt right.

I curl up on my bed and close my eyes tight. I don't want to think about this. I don't want to think about any of this, but I know that's a lost cause.
Like a rogue storm on a summer day, I hear thunder start to rumble.

All I can say is this, how will I ever be normal coming from such a fucked up family as this one.