It was 1979, and my whole world was upside down. My Mother, who had always been the epitome of domestic bliss, was now going out on the weekends with a mystery man. It wasn't that I minded. My parents' final years together were hell on earth, and I was happy that my Mom was having some fun. Mom was clearly letting loose and had readily embraced the late 70's lifestyle. Bell bottoms, tight t-shirts, parties on the weekends, and drinking beer had replaced my biological father's standards; supper on the table at six, refilling his drinks as needed, and complete submission to his wants and needs.

She clearly was very concerned about telling us about her new boyfriend. I already knew his name was Pat, short for Patrick. I knew that he had two sons, one of which was my own age. I knew that my sister despised him, even though she had never even seen him, and he wasn't her Daddy.

As I sat at our kitchen table there on Worth Street, eating a humongous bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal, my ten year old mind contemplated the news she was about to share. Cookie Crisp cereal usually meant big news in our household. No way did we ever get the king of sugar cereals unless Mom was buttering us up about something.

"Son, I need to talk to you about something," Mom casually said.

As I wiped a huge drop of chocolate milk from my chin, I looked up at her, and smiled. "Sure Mom, go ahead."

"You know that me and your father have been apart now for awhile, and your Momma gets lonely sometimes."

"Mom, if you want to hang out more, all you had to do was say so."

"Honey, that isn't what I mean. She stammered over some words that I am sure I didn't understand nor did I much care, as long as I could keep eating my cereal. I have started seeing someone, and we are really enjoying each other. He is a man."

"Cool! When are you gonna let me meet him?" (I had seen enough episodes of the Brady Bunch to understand what was going on.)

"Are you sure you aren't upset about it? I mean do you have any questions?" my mother stammered. After calmly assuring her that I was fine, and diving back into my cereal, she seemed to realize that she had passed the test. With me......

My mom knew that passing the test with my sister, Tonya, would be another matter altogether. Tonya was 13 years old, and much wiser about the world and such. She also had been babysitting me while Mom went out with Pat on the weekends, and to her, that was horrific. Not because of me, but because she still

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