Do you have scars? I'm sure we all do. Maybe we burned ourselves cooking or skinned our knee one too many times. What about a scar that when you see it, you're reminded of a horrible mistake you made. Perhaps you catch a glimpse of it in the mirror and think, "Wow, why did I do that?" Now, imagine please that you are that scar, a constant reminder of a mistake. You're only in this world because of something that shouldn't have happened. This is how it feels to be a love child.
The news of Arnold Schwarzenegger's dissolving marriage was, to some, shocking enough. When the world learned what could be called the main reason for this split, the shock was amped up a few notches. The former governor of California had fathered a child with a staffer. This staffer continued to work in the home and Arnold had been monetarily supporting the child for 10 years. Arnold's wife, Maria Shriver, had no knowledge of this and when her husband came clean, she had simply had enough. The marriage is over, the family is hurt, and the admissions are being made, complete with shame and regret. Most would say this is the least that could be done for such infidelity, but there's more to the story.
People make mistakes all the time. Whether it be a simple one like forgetting to put the cap back on milk or a big one like choosing to have an extramarital tryst, mistakes happen. Humans aren't infallible and sometimes, even the most unassuming of people can surprise you. A few years after the death of my father, I learned the truth of who I was. I think I'd always known deep down, but that didn't make the news any easier to swallow. My mother had had a short-lived affair and had become pregnant. Both of my parents were older and my father (the man I knew as my father) had feared for their ability to support a baby at their age. He had suggested termination, but my mother refused.
The man I called Dad was truly my father. He raised me and loved me. It's possible he knew I didn't belong to him, but he never let on. He passed away when I was a senior in high school and that's when the phone calls started. A man I'd known only in small doses started calling my mother weekly, sometimes more. I searched my memory and came to the conclusion when I was to start my second year in college. I asked if this man was my real father and my mother said nothing. Sometimes silence is an answer.
I had never known a pain like that. It was like my entire life had been a lie. After the initial shock wore off, I began to think of how this must feel for my family, for the family of the man who was genetically my father. They had their affair, but broke it off, returning to their spouses and families. I was the only proof of what had happened, a scar to remind them of the mistake they made. I thought of the looks my mother had given me sometimes and how I never quite understood why they were different than the looks she gave my siblings. I remembered the sudden 'surprise' stashes of cash we would have when we needed money and finally knew where they'd come from. This man had been sending us money from the day I was born. I thought of the books I'd read, movies I'd seen, where a wayward couple had conceived a child, the shame they felt. I was that shame; I was a walking mistake.
A long time has passed since the day I learned the truth. I've come to terms with what I am. The man I always knew as my father will always be my father. I have cordial dealings with my biological, but it can never be much more. My siblings were understandably hurt when they were told and some kept a distance from me for a while, but they don't seem to mind now. Most of my extended family and acquaintances are unaware of the situation. I genuinely fear for what they'd think of my mother. I love my mother in spite of what she did and I can't stomach the thought of someone calling her the things I've seen people call Arnold and his accomplice in this transgression.
In the heat of the moment, when a story is at its peak in this society, it's easy to make snap judgements and play superior. What Arnold did was wrong, we know that. But it's important to remember there are others at play here. That child not only had guilt on its shoulders, but it is the human embodiment of guilt. Believe me, that's not easy to live with. And to hear everyone from news anchors to bloggers decry this child's existence as something of a crime, call its mother names, and God forbid, refer to it as a 'bastard', well, that's just a bridge too far. I was stepping into my 20s when I learned what I was and I can't imagine how horrible this must be for a child that young. Yes, this was a huge mistake, but remember in your criticisms there is an innocent kid out there bearing the brunt of all these missiles. I doubt even the child of Mr. Universe can long withstand that kind of barrage.
