When I knew that something was really really wrong between Mom and Dad

When I was 6 years old or so I was able to get up on my garage roof in my backyard by first climbing up on the roof of an attached playhouse. I was playing with a friend by sliding down the gable roof onto the flat playhouse roof. Somehow, I really don't remember how, I ended up on the other side of the roof peak - maybe I climbed too high and tripped - and fell off the roof and onto the walkway below. Apparently I couldn't have fallen in the bushes or on the grass that were on either side of the concrete; no, I fell smack dab in the middle of the walkway. I was unconscious for a half-hour or so. I woke up just as the ambulance arrived and I remember riding in the back with Mom with the sirens going all the way to the hospital. The x-ray room was cold as I remember; I had fractured my skull and had a concussion. I had the post-concussion vomiting through the night - ugh.

So now to Mom and Dad. I recall very clearly them visiting in the afternoon a day or two after I had been brought to the hospital. I was sitting up in bed and they were sitting in two chairs across the room from me. The curtains must have been open since I remember the room being bright with indirect light from a sunny day. It was as if I had woken up from a very long dream and finally was acutely aware of the tension between Mom and Dad. It was so strange that I was so calm and collected while being aware that there was something terribly wrong right in front of me.

Much later Mom told me that she had not called Dad when I fell off the roof and not until late that afternoon or early evening. She told me that part of her resistance was due to her resentment about Dad being away so much at work with unexplained late nights; she suspected that he was having an affair. When Dad found about my accident and hospitalization he was furious with her. What I experienced in my hospital room was the aftermath of whatever arguments they must have had.

I know that they must have tried to patch things together. When I was released from the hospital it was on the condition that I wear some sort of protection for my head to help my fractures knit back together so Dad took Michael and me to the sports store and got each of us football helmets; I remember that mine had the markings of the LA Rams. I wore mine at all times, Michael only when he wanted to play football. But this was Dad's way of making sure I was taken care of while Michael did not feel like he was left out.

That same year just before Christmas Dad moved out.