Dont Fear....

Infertile

"You're joshing me," Ron declared, forcing a smile through gritted teeth.

The genealogist shrugged, intertwining his fingers on the desk, not daring to meet Ron's gaze. "The DNA test is reliable."

Ron, my husband, was adopted. He knew nothing about his family history, so when we had trouble conceiving, we decided to commission some genetic tests.

"I am not..." Ron began, stepping menacingly toward the scientist, index finger pointed like the barrel of a gun, "...the spawn of cotton-pickers and hood-rats! Run the test again!"

Ron was also a racist. Generally, he wasn't so forthright about it - he'd see a white woman holding hands with a black man, and whisper about unpaid child support - he'd excuse it as a joke, but I knew it was something deeper.

Foolishly, I'd believed my love could change him.

The scientist mustered up some backbone, and with a quaky voice he retorted, "The results indicate that you are three-eighths African-American. I'm sorry if that's a crisis for you, but it is the truth, and it cannot be changed."

Ron had always been a bit dark - I attributed it to the time he spent in the sun, working long hours in the garden out back. He loved that garden - tended to it like a child - planted orchids and sunflowers and lilies - always assuring they had enough water, that the soil was sufficiently nutritional. Ron was a hard man, but that garden humanized him.

"You're saying my wife could have a black-skinned baby?" he shouted.

"Would that be so terrible?" I asked, tearing up.

Ron turned his fiery gaze on me, huffed, then swallowed, and stormed out of the office. He left in a squeal of burnt rubber, and I had to call my sister for a ride home.

When I got there, I found Ron in his garden, angrily tearing plants out of the earth and casting them aside. It was heartbreaking.

"Ron! What is wrong with you?" I sobbed, grabbing his arm, forcing him to stop. "Why are you so filled with hate?"

Ron too was crying now.

"I never used to be like this," he said. "I never used to hate anyone."

"What changed?" I demanded.

He breathed deep before answering. "My wife - my first wife - she cheated on me with a black man."

This was the first time he mentioned another wife. But if she cheated, it made sense for him to omit her from the personal history he shared with me.

But then Ron continued.

"Well..." he said, "I thought she cheated. She insisted she hadn't, but I couldn't believe her."

"Why not?"

"She had a black baby," Ron answered.

"A child!" I couldn't believe he would keep that from me. "When was this? Where is the baby now?"

But Ron didn't answer. He just stared, downtrodden, at the garden.

At the corner of a large wooden crate he'd unearthed.