The Missing Pieces

"There will always be missing pieces to one's family history.  Everyone has something to hide."

- Babers

It's been on my mind.  The missing links.  You hear some of the whispers, you pick up on the secrets, but you never really know the truth.  I like to think of my family's history kind of in the same way one could look at a classic mob family mentality.  In your own little pod, from the outside looking in, you see a loving family, strong sense of community, but you would never expect the seedy underbelly of the unit. 

That may be an awful way to describe my family as we are no where near being a mob in any meaning of the term.  But take the movie "Goodfellas" and watch a few of the family scenes.  You can see the love and protection for one another, but then fast forward to a few of the family disgracing scenes and you see how quickly that love can fade.  The secrets, the hushed voices, the ignorance is bliss, looking the other way, you see it all. 

And in my family you hear it all, but you never really get the truth.  Now whether it's out of pride or shame, no matter who you talk to or how many times you talk to the same person you never really get the same answer, much less a straight answer.

There are a few questions I have regarding my family history.  Some of which, after much digging, I have found the answers to.  For example the reason my great grandfather hated his father was because he was a drunk that beat his mother to near death before his very eyes.  Others, I believe I've gotten partial truths to, like the mysterious brother my great grandmother had.  During a search I came across his birth certificate and death certificate, but when asked about him, to my grandma he didn't exist.  It wasn't until the final few months of her life when I was helping to take care of her in one of our conversations did I find some answers.  From what she was willing to share, all I know of him, is he must have had some kind of mental handicap or disorder and that her parents kept him from the time he was about 5 years old until his death, locked in a cage until his death.  And while these may be the more disturbing facts of my family history there has always been one searing question that I will actively pursue until my very own death. 

My father passed away not knowing the answer and that was the one thing he truly wanted to know, to understand in his final days.  And yet, he was never given the truth.  It makes me so angry that his own mother would deny him of this.  In fact it makes me disgust her. 

My father was the eldest of five children of this woman's bearings.  One sibling whom is only a half sibling.  When my father was young, from what I gather he was between the ages of 5 and 7 when he was left with my great grandparents to live.  I've heard many different stories about why he went there in the first place.  The first story I was told, was that his mother and father were fighting, and yes, my dads father could be a mean drunk when he succumbed to the alcohol, though he did not drink daily, it was often enough.  But then what contradicts this, is the fact she went on to have 3 additional children with the same man and they were never left behind.  When she had her youngest son, the story changed into Bill, her then new and current husband, did not get along with my father.  I'm sorry, but who gives a fuck?  Bill was a grown man and my father, just a child.  Make them work it out. At least that's how I see it.  Now I've often asked myself why my grandfather did not have custody of my father and the facts say it was a combination between the fact that he started abusing the alcohol regularly, had a horrendous work schedule, and as time went on, chose to be a dead beat dad.  Any given combination of stories have been told, they were hard up for money, they didn't get along, etc. blah blah blah.  None of it adds up.  I'm sorry, but how can you leave a child behind, go and have 4 more kids, and never go back for your first born?  There is so much more than what they are willing to admit to.  I've tried speaking to my great grandfather and grandmother regarding this as my grandfather passed away when I was just 3 years old, and they were never willing to speak of it.  I've tried talking to my fathers mother and she gives the run around.  My father died not knowing why he wasn't good enough. Why he wasn't the same as the others.  What made him so different?

I've come up with a theory though.  I've always noticed my great grandfather as being a very "touchy feely" man never inappropriate with his grand kids or children in general, but for example, he liked to squeeze my mothers shoulder in a way that made her uneasy, things like that.  And the only theory that makes sense to me, is that instead of my father's dad being my grandfather who passed when I was 3, is really the man I've grown to believe to be my great grandfather. 

Why else would it be such a dirty secret that no one wants to talk about?  Why else would she not have gone back for him?  Why was there such a deep hatred between my fathers mother and my great grandparents?  Whatever the reason is, I will find out the truth.  I don't care how many people I piss off along the way.  The man's dying wish had gone unanswered, as his daughter I feel it is my obligation to find out for him.