This actually happened back in September...but I felt it was about time I ranted about it. My family is truly fucked up in some parts, and I think this kinda explains why.
My mother had me over for dinner again one night. When I arrived, my dad was flipping through a book about looking through one's family tree online. Dad said he was interested in looking up our Irish ancestors, some of whom still live over there. Didn't think much about it, until after dinner.
He left to talk to a neighbor up the street, and that's when my mother dropped the bombshell. The one, to end all bombshells. The nuke, if you will.
Most of what I've been told about his side of the family has been a lie. Apparently, the man I knew as "Grandpa" was nothing of the sort. He's not my dad's father, in other words. Either his real dad was killed during the war, or left soon after, we don't know. We don't know if he was adopted either. This all came out some years ago, when my aunt (Diane) was planning a party for their 50th. Seems that the dates didn't quite line up. Turns out, Grandma married "Grandpa" when my dad was about 6. All my life, I was told that he was my grandfather. The past 37 years on have been a lie. I have no connection to him, other than a common last name.
Dad was born on 5/16/45, roughly 8 days after WWII ended in Europe. "Grandpa" fought in the Battle of the Bulge, towards the end of the war. That lasted through January/February of '45. I'm sure he wouldn't have been home quickly. Nor would he have been home 9 months prior. So there's that...
All of this might explain why my dad's family is so fucked up, and why they never paid much attention to us...and why Aunt Diane was constantly fawned over. We were the "bastard" grandchildren, in other words. Very few phone calls over the years
Most of my life, I've never felt like I belonged anywhere. All of the digging I'd done into the family tree on that side, is now worthless. I'm not related to *any* of them. Up until now, I thought I'd *finally* managed to fit in somewhere. Now that's been taken away.
Why this secret was kept from me for 37 years, I have no idea. If we would have been told maybe 25 years ago, we might have understood. But now, I'm not so sure. 37 years of the cold shoulder, because I'm technically *not* part of the family.
I can't really talk to my dad about this. He doesn't really want to talk about it, and even if he did, I'm hesitant to approach him. He'd flip out, since my mom and Grandma aren't exactly friends...
What has me upset, other than losing a huge chunk of my heritage, is any possible genetic issues. Some of you know about my breathing issues--which have been getting worse lately I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind having some warning as to precautions that I could have taken to either prevent, or be prepared for this shit.
My mother had me over for dinner again one night. When I arrived, my dad was flipping through a book about looking through one's family tree online. Dad said he was interested in looking up our Irish ancestors, some of whom still live over there. Didn't think much about it, until after dinner.
He left to talk to a neighbor up the street, and that's when my mother dropped the bombshell. The one, to end all bombshells. The nuke, if you will.
Most of what I've been told about his side of the family has been a lie. Apparently, the man I knew as "Grandpa" was nothing of the sort. He's not my dad's father, in other words. Either his real dad was killed during the war, or left soon after, we don't know. We don't know if he was adopted either. This all came out some years ago, when my aunt (Diane) was planning a party for their 50th. Seems that the dates didn't quite line up. Turns out, Grandma married "Grandpa" when my dad was about 6. All my life, I was told that he was my grandfather. The past 37 years on have been a lie. I have no connection to him, other than a common last name.
Dad was born on 5/16/45, roughly 8 days after WWII ended in Europe. "Grandpa" fought in the Battle of the Bulge, towards the end of the war. That lasted through January/February of '45. I'm sure he wouldn't have been home quickly. Nor would he have been home 9 months prior. So there's that...
All of this might explain why my dad's family is so fucked up, and why they never paid much attention to us...and why Aunt Diane was constantly fawned over. We were the "bastard" grandchildren, in other words. Very few phone calls over the years
Most of my life, I've never felt like I belonged anywhere. All of the digging I'd done into the family tree on that side, is now worthless. I'm not related to *any* of them. Up until now, I thought I'd *finally* managed to fit in somewhere. Now that's been taken away.
Why this secret was kept from me for 37 years, I have no idea. If we would have been told maybe 25 years ago, we might have understood. But now, I'm not so sure. 37 years of the cold shoulder, because I'm technically *not* part of the family.
I can't really talk to my dad about this. He doesn't really want to talk about it, and even if he did, I'm hesitant to approach him. He'd flip out, since my mom and Grandma aren't exactly friends...
What has me upset, other than losing a huge chunk of my heritage, is any possible genetic issues. Some of you know about my breathing issues--which have been getting worse lately I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind having some warning as to precautions that I could have taken to either prevent, or be prepared for this shit.
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