the family secret

the ‘family secret’ as I have dubbed it.. the fact that my ‘dad’ is my biological uncle.  his brother, my father, gave up raising me.. as per my mother’s request.  to be completely honest… to this day, I do not fully understand the reasons behind this.  all I have are the quick, no detail explanations of a guilt-ridden mother.

the impact this so called ‘secret’ played in my life, was nothing less than life altering.  that’s because secrets have a way of spilling out.  the more people that are aware, the more it spreads.. to where eventually, it’s no longer a ‘secret’ but the façade of one.  this was my reality.

long before I was aware of such a ‘secret’.. I had the general feeling of not fitting in.  not with my dad and stepmom.. nor with my own mother.  each home had their way of functioning, that neither felt ‘right’ to me.. nor welcoming.  both felt like exclusive clubs, that I held only a ‘guest’ membership to.  now, I’m sure if you asked either of my parents if they understand where those feelings came from, they’d be oblivious.  and that is the problem…  they always were oblivious. 

somewhere around the time I was turning seven, the mystery of my troubled thoughts would be revealed.  after listening to the ramblings of a young child, confused by the flip flop life that a divorce provides.. asking why her ‘real’ mom and ‘real’ dad can’t be together… my stepmother tired and broke.  out of anger and frustration, she blurted out the ugly truth… “if you want your REAL mom and REAL father together.. you’re barking up the wrong tree!  your REAL father is your uncle!!”  I’m sure that as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.  but the truth is, what it is.  she immediately contacted both my dad, and my mother, to fill them in on the incident.  as you can only imagine, this was not a pleasant scene.  one you’d think they would have shielded me from.. but alas, did not.  I heard every ugly word they said to each other.  like a hive of angry bees buzzing around each other.  grandmother finally came to her senses, and drug me out of the mess.. and proceeded to sit down and try to explain.  bless her heart, she tried… but, I was too young to understand.  things eventually calmed, and if you can believe it or not… everyone went back to life, as if all were ‘normal’.  not another word was mentioned of it. 

so there I was… everyone in the family knowing this so called ‘secret’ and pretending life as normal.  all the while, whispering around like a bunch of gossip girls.  every time my ‘uncle’ would come into town.. the flames would be fanned.  they’d sit and watch as I interacted with him, making me feel as if I were being tested somehow.  I could always sense the tension in the air.  (both before I knew the truth, and after)  what were they all so afraid of?  that he might take off with me?  I laugh at that!  he never even acknowledged me as his. he too, acting as if there was still some sort of secret.  as a child, it was confusing.  as an adult, I find it utterly ridiculous!

my paternal grandmother, whom I was around a lot when I was young, was not a very loving woman.  in fact, I would call her cold.  to hear others tell it, she was a doting grandmother who loved and spoiled me.  funny how people’s perceptions can be so different.  was she ever nice to me, of course.  she wasn’t a monster, and I did love her.  but the truth is, I was more afraid of her than anything else.  she was intimidating… quick tempered, and cold as steel at times.  she always seemed to glare at me, as if she wanted to say something.. but never did.  seeming to be angry with me, for no reason.  this, as I watched her dote on my cousins as if the sun rose and set in them.  there’s that familiar feeling again.. of not fitting in, or being accepted.

life continued like this, for the rest of my childhood.. and into my young adulthood.  it wasn’t until my own family and I were getting ready to be deployed overseas, that the phone call finally came.  he was in town, and wanted to see me.  as I sit here, remembering the accounts of that night, I have to smile.  I will never forget my husband’s reaction, upon meeting my ‘father’ for the first time.  he stared at him.. as if he were seeing a ghost.  he later told me, on the way home, that he just couldn’t wrap his head around it… “how could they all think they could hide it?  you look just like him!!”.  it’s true.. I did look like him.  and I can’t explain to you, what a moment it was for me, to look into his eyes.. and for the first time, see myself.  yes, I had seen him a few times, growing up.. but I had never looked at him the way I was that night.  I was an adult, with two children of my own, looking at my own father.. really, for the very first time.  introducing him to his grandchildren, and watching him tear up.. the emotions sweeping over him, as he realizes what he’s missed out on.  he showed me pictures of my half sister, whom I didn’t even know existed.  it was a surreal moment.. a happy one.  and a very sad one.  so much time wasted. 

I would love to say that the story was a fairytale happy ending.  but alas,  this is my life we’re talking about.  nothing could be that easy.  truth is, my father was married to a woman who was jealous, and would not allow him to stay in contact with me.  so, we lost touch.  yes, I hear you all.. he should have stood up to her.. and you’re right.  he should have.  but he didn’t.  and it wasn’t for several years, that I heard from him again.  this time, he promised, would be different.  he wanted to build a relationship.  he wanted to get to know my family, and his grandchildren, now one more added.  he did put in the effort, and we began to build that relationship.  it was awkward and tense at times, but both desperate to right the wrong.. we trudged on.