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The week before parent teacher conferences, everyone always looked like their lives were about to end. People talked less, nobody wanted to answer during class, and the playground crowd during recess looked like a child-size re-enactment of a prison movie. It's not a big surprise, of course. In a kid's life, the main adults involved are your parents and your teachers, and having them all together tended to be a recipe for disaster.

Everyone had a different reason for dreading the big day. Some kids would get grounded for their grades, some would get lectured for bad behavior. There was Jimmy, who had been using his lunch money to buy monster cards. He'd been hiding it pretty well by taking food from everyone else, but Ms Washington had noticed it after a while, and now she was all set to give his parents a concerned talk about their financial situation, and the thing is, Jimmy's folks are loaded.

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Now, you might think that I wouldn't have anything to worry about. My grades were fine, the teachers liked me--- but not so much that it's weird--- and I haven't been doing anything with my lunch money but buying lunch. But if you think that, then you'd be wrong. Why am I dreading parent teacher conference night? Because I'm pretty sure my parents are the most embarrassing people on earth. Or... okay, maybe just in my entire class. Still, they're definitely the most embarrassing people I know. You could probably make good money putting them on TV, actually, except then the whole world would know about it, and I'd never be able to leave my house again.

[crow]

Don't believe me? Well, picture this: first day of preschool. The parking lot is full of people leading their cute little children up to the door. There's crying, there's hugs, there's the litany of reminders to behave and don't forget to put on your coat before you go outside and all that. See that kid with the dinosaur jacket and the angelic face? That's me. No, wait, not the blond. The other one, the one with curls. Yeah that's me.

And in about five seconds, my dad is going to start hitting on my teacher before she even sees my precious little head.

“You must be Dante's new teacher! I'm Rafe, here's my number if you need me... And may I say what beautiful eyes you have?” Yeah. It's not even subtle. I really wish I had figured out how to roll my eyes before first grade. So many missed opportunities.

[crow]

Anyway, if you're wondering, he's not trying to cheat on my mom. My dad's a single man... sort of.

“Rafe, what are you doing? Hurry and help me with this!” The frustrated voice coming from our minivan? Not my mom. But the pitch probably gave that away already. No, papa's not my dad's 'life partner' either, at least not in the way most people think. Honestly, it would be easier to explain if they were. Biologically speaking, I'm dad's kid, but papa lives with us and does the laundry and reads to me before bed.

Papa's great, except for the part where he worries too much. And when he worries too much...

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Most kids came to kindergarten with a little backpack filled with crayons and snacks and stuff. You may have noticed by now that I'm not carrying anything. That's because all my stuff is packed into an adult-sized gym bag, which is being carried up the steps by papa. I don't even know what he had in there, but the bag was full and it looked pretty heavy.

“Casimir, we've discussed this. He doesn't need all that junk,” dad said.

“You tried to give him popcorn and ice cream for dinner yesterday,” papa retorted. “You don't get to have an opinion. And what are you doing right now? You're not hitting on his teacher, are you?”

Dad put on his best 'who, me?' face, which was actually pretty impressive. “What? Of course not!” he said. “I was just introducing myself, that's all.”

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But the thing is, if you've lived together with dad as long as papa has, you get pretty good at telling when he's lying. Papa turned to the teacher and said, “He wasn't saying anything inappropriate to you, was he?”

The teacher looked as if she would have loved to be anywhere else right now. “Er, I---”

“He said, 'what beyoooootiful eyes you have'!” said a little girl, whose mother tried in vain to shush her. Papa glowered. "Are you going to kiss? Are you going to get married?" Dad put up his hands in a defensive gesture. The teacher started to edge away from them.

“Five minutes until the bell, everyone!” she said, and that might have been the end of that, except at that moment a plump woman with a neatly-groomed hairdo and too much perfume marched up to her with this really sour look on her face.

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“I wasn't aware that this school was open to homosexuals,” she said, looking straight at dad and papa. Everyone had gone quiet. Everyone who wasn't already staring at then turned to do so.

Dad laughed it off. "Well, technically, I'm bi," he offered, which of course didn't make any difference as far as that lady was concerned. But papa handed his sports bag over to dad and headed straight for her.

“Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing your comment. Do you have something against homosexuals?” he said.

The woman puffed up, kind of like those birds on the Discovery Channel. “Of course I do!” she said. “I don't want my child being exposed to unwholesome values and growing up thinking that sort of thing is acceptable!”

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Papa frowned. “You do realize gay marriage is legal here, and has been for the past eight years.”

“A decision I fully expect to have overturned after the next election. The neighborhood committee has been writing diligently every week to our local representative.”

You can see where this is going, right? At this point, a few other parents started to get involved. By the time the bell rang, we had a full-blown debate on our hands. With everyone yelling, I don't think anyone was actually listening to the points anyone else was making anymore. Then again, with this kind of topic, most people had their minds made up to begin with.

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There were a few poor, dazed parents on the sidelines, holding onto their children as they watched the scene unfold with growing horror. The teacher was pretty much on the verge of a panic attack, and cars were starting to slow down in front of the school.

Eventually things settled down and we all got to go inside and have our attendance taken, but when they called my name, that same loud-mouthed girl hollered, “He's the one with the two daddies!” which might not have been so bad if papa hadn't started a scene that took a full half hour and the intervention of school admin to resolve. Kids didn't stop asking me to teach them swear words until third grade, when we got a new student who actually knew some.

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That's not the worst thing I can think of either. It doesn't even make top five, but anything I can remember of top-five-worthy material is something I'm actively trying to repress. There's only so much mortification a ten-year-old can live with, you know?

The bell rang for the end of the day, and everyone shuffled out like zombies. Normally most of us couldn't wait to get out of school, but what did it matter now? Our lives were going to be over by the end of the week, so it didn't make much of a difference whether we had to sit and listen to Mr Dinapoli carry on about Egypt for another hour.

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Dad's car was waiting for me out in the parking lot. It's pretty hard to miss. Papa drove a minivan, but dad preferred sports cars, usually painted bright red to boot. For anyone else, it would have counted as a mid-life crisis car, but not for dad. As far as I can remember, all his cars have been like this, and he gets a new one every year.

“Hey, champ,” he said as I got into the shotgun seat. “How was school today?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” I said. Looking resolutely out the window, I waved the parent-teacher conference day schedule in his general direction, then let my hand fall back down when he took it from me.

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I considered not telling him about it for all of two seconds, but Mr Dinapoli was a stickler about this kind of thing. He believed that parents should be involved in their children's education, which wasn't a bad attitude I guess, just... inconvenient for me. If one of my parents didn't show up for the conference, I would never hear the end of it from him. He'd probably just assume they were busy and try to schedule something outside the assigned dates. My folks were... special enough; they really didn't need the extra help.

I could hear the rustling of paper as dad looked the schedule over. “Ooh, it's that time of year again huh?” he said. “You know, I think I can make it this year. That'd be a nice change of pace, wouldn't it?”

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Usually dad was busy with work, so it was papa who went, and it was always a hassle trying to explain our relationship. Last year, papa had just taken a folder with all the legal documents and slammed it onto the table without saying anything.

“Mmm,” I said noncommittally. If he flirted with Mr Dinapoli... Well, Mr Dinapoli was old. I hope dad's tastes don't run that way.

I glanced at him long enough to see dad fold up the schedule and put it in his pocket, before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot onto the road for home. Looking out the window, I counted the passing trees and tried to imagine that things might actually go well for me this year.

I had no idea just how awful a fate awaited me when I got home.

[crow]

Now, I feel like I should maybe take a moment to describe my family situation in greater detail. Considering this is me telling the story, I want to have as few misunderstandings here as possible. I already deal with plenty of those that I can't help, and this time I can help it, so I will.

I'm pretty sure you've noticed by now, but I don't mention my mom. This, along with the two dads thing, tends to lead people to a few conclusions: my mom is dead, my mom is an egg donor, I'm adopted, etc. etc. There's a fairly narrow range of situations that people assume I'm in, and almost all of them involve my mom not being in the picture.

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The pity is optional, but I'd honestly prefer if they left it out. The 'aww you poor thing' people had a tendency to... dwell on me, which is just about the last thing I need. Even if that was the situation I was in--- which it isn't--- I'd still be fine. My dads aren't perfect, but they're no worse than any other set of parents I'd seen.

There's a reason I don't just come out and set these people straight though. The real story's a little more convoluted, and it probably wouldn't produce any less misplaced pity for me. I'm not technically a teen pregnancy, but I was pretty close--- my mom was still in college when she had me. It wasn't one of those young married couple situations either. She and my dad were a drunken one night stand.