I’ve been away from blogging for a bit. There are a few reasons for this. I tend to run in streaks and I think that the reality of bloggins is coming to me.
I’m not likely going to change and frame public opinion out there. All I can probably hope to do is to figure things out for myself and maybe open up a debate about issues. Lately, I’ve not been in the mood for a debate. I’ve been a bit preoccupied with my own sort of vision quest.
As regular readers of this blog know, my wife is an adoptee. I understand a bit of her pain, but will never fully get it as I am a “normal kid” and she’s one of the others. However, her quest for finding her family has lead me to also shake around in the hidden and closed closets of my own life. There were a few alleged skeltons lurking around in my own family background, and I guess I ventured into that world.
The past week or so I’ve been living in the past, my families past. I wanted to find out about my families’ past and managed to do just that, finding out a good deal more than I probably thought I’d know. I also rattled the skeltons, and probably have upset a few lives. I don’t know if that was good, but I had to do something, and I’m going to blame my wife on this one, even though what I did ends up hurting her a bit.
Okay, time to open up the closet and let you all know my families’ dirty little secret. Secrets suck, and we usually put them in closets because we don’t like looking at them everyday. We just figure that they’ll die and go away. Here’s my family’s dirty little secret; my father never really knew his father.
The story that he was told by his mother and her family was that his father was a dirty rotten so and so that upped and left one day leaving him and my grandmother high and dry. The reality is that one day my grandmother – and I still love her – but I will confess this makes it a bit hard – took my dad for a walk from their home in one part of Queens to her mother’s house in another part of Queens. So what you may think, a walk in the spring. Hardly. She never went back to the other part of Queens and wouldn’t allow my grandfather to see his son again. That’s when the lies came in to hide the dirty little secret. In the end it hurt everyone involved, but mostly my dad, and I am sure my grandfather.
My dad was wounded by this. I can’t even begin to think what he went through, but the concept must have been, “What’s wrong with me that you would leave me and not come back”. Funny how we let lies made by others to rule our lives. He also had to deal with the anger of being abandoned, not once, but then later on when my grandmother remarried, my dad was packed up again, back to his grandmother’s house where he spent the rest of his youth while my grandmother and her new husband lived together, soon joined by their own child. Like I said, Grandma, I love you, but that was pretty F’d up x 2.
However, I found my father’s family. My grandfather died in 1992 at the age of 82. All of his brothers died, and all of their wives. But I’ve found my father’s generation.
Many emotions. I’ve opened up a closet, and it had skeletons in it. This won’t be over, but it’s 2:30 AM, so I have to get some sleep. We have a family reunion, and while my digging has opened up skeletons, it’s also opened up wounds.