So Dawn, my precocious six-year-old, comes out of my bedroom today. “Daddy, why do you have a wig in your closet?”
“What were you doing in my closet?”
“I wasn’t. The door was open. I just looked in.”
Oops. She was probably snooping for Christmas presents and saw an opportunity.
“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” I said, trying to be nonchalant. “Right now we have to get to school. And stay out of my closet!”
Dawn has a mind like a steel trap, though, and a few minutes later she brought it up again. “Why do you have a wig?”
“I said I’d tell you some other time,” I repeated.
I decided to try the reverse psychology route. “Well, why do you think I have a wig?”
Her little brow furrowed. “Maybe because you want long hair?”
“Well,” I said, “Haven’t I been growing my hair out?”
“But then why do you need a wig?”
“I told you, I’ll tell you about it later.”
Yeah, I chickened out. I dodged. I put off the inevitable. I was not ready to drop a bomb on my kids five minutes before they went to school for the day. But it’s getting out there — my secret, the one I have been dreading telling them.
Of all the steps I’ve taken this year, telling my kids will be by far the hardest. I love them. They are literally the most important things in my life right now. I don’t want to hurt them anymore. They’ve already had to adjust to a divorce this year. But losing their daddy too? Ugh. I feel like such a selfish shit just thinking about it.
Unfortunately, it feels like my time to delay is just about up. I was feeling the pressure anyway, and this just put the pressure on some more. It’s going to be an interesting holiday …