The Truth Shall Set You Free!

When I look back at my childhood, one thing that comes to mind is SECRETS. There were so many secrets swirling around me that you could almost stir 'em with a stick. I remember when I was about ten and was introduced to a lady in her fifties...my parents told me she was someone Daddy met while traveling for work and that I could just call her "Aunt Dorothy."  Aunt Dorothy began to visit more and more frequently and even gave us some really cool gifts like cowboy boots, jewelry and money! I liked Aunt Dorothy.  I was always a VERY curious child. I was also never one to hide my thoughts or ideas.  I quickly began to question why this basic stranger was always visiting all the way from Missouri and bringing such extravagant gifts.  I was always shushed.  I was also always told not to mention "Aunt Dorothy" to Granny(Daddy's mom). Fast forward through about five more years of visits, gifts, travels....I was sitting with Granny in her family room when we began to discuss babies and first birthdays and how she just loved my first birthday because I dug nearly head-first into the cake and was just so cute.  I inquired about my own father's first birthday and Granny looked at me as if I had just slapped her.  She said,"Well, honey, I didn't have your daddy when he was one."  "Where in the world was he?" was my reaction.  She then dropped the bomb on me......"Sweetheart, your daddy is adopted.  He came to us when he was three.  I thought you knew that."  WHAT??!!!

 

Nearly immediately, I began to put two and two together.  I spilled the beans to Granny about "Aunt Dorothy."  Turns out Aunt Dorothy was really the biological mother that had lost custody of my father and three of his siblings(Uncle Bob was adopted along with Daddy, Mary went to live with grandparents and Walter was adopted by another family in another town). Let's just say that Loree Wyatt Poole gave me an earful of opinions that day!  I was pretty pissed off that I was being made to look like a fool by my own parents. WTH?! Why was this something that needed to be hidden?  Turns out, Uncle John was adopted by my grandparents a few years later and had different birth parents.  I was hurt and confused.  I didn't understand why this story wasn't one of which to be proud.  How wonderful that Granny and Pappy adopted these boys and gave them such a fantastic life.  I still really have no idea why my parents chose to keep it a secret.  I also have no clue how in the world the subject didn't come up with Granny until I was fifteen! I felt like a complete idiot and I was ready to explode!!!!!!

Another few months went by and another secret was exposed from my mother's side of the family. My entire life, I was aware that my mother's mother had passed away when my mother was 19.  I never knew her(obviously) and I never really knew how she died.  I just knew she had always been dead to me.  I also knew that I was to NEVER, and I mean NEVER, mention her or inquire about her death. EVER. I'm still not sure why I was willing to abide by my father's request on that.  Maybe I do have a soft spot somewhere deep inside my soul.  Marjorie Iva Smith Burrell was always like a fictional character to me. I had a hard time making her "real." I grew up hearing Nannie(my great-grandmother)and my great-aunt, Vida Mae, talk about how incredibly giving and loving and precious Marjorie was. She sounded like someone who would have made the most perfect grandmother.  I missed her and I didn't even know her.  I felt slighted because Grandaddy had married Elise when I was about five.  Elise wasn't the most "loving, giving and precious lady." She was always nice to ME, but she wasn't really the grandmotherly type.  Anyway, I was at Nannie's house one day having lunch at her formica kitchen table with the silver edging.   Several family members were enjoying the meal together when I decided to just get it all out in the open. I was probably not quite sixteen.  "Just exactly how did my grandmother die?" I blurted.  SILENCE.  Heads turned as the adults looked at each other with that classic question in their eyes.  Nobody wanted to be the first to speak.  "She was really sick," said a family member.  "No kidding," I responded.  "I guess you're old enough to know, Alyson, she killed herself," said my great aunt.  WTH again??!!! Seriously, what was up with these people and all these damn secrets? My mother looked as if she wanted to fall through the floor.  Heaven forbid, someone tell the truth. I was shaking with anger at this point.  I later learned the gory details of that horrific day and the events that happened leading up to the fateful act.  I, again, felt like a fool for never figuring this out. 

 

Believe me, there are other things I know that could make your toes curl.  That's the joy of growing up in the Deep South where what other people think about you is sometimes deemed much more important than doing the right thing. One day, this blog just might be the source for jaw-droppin ooooohs and ahhhhs and hand-over-the-mouth shock.....but not today. My point today is that I am trying to raise my kids in TRUTH.  Kids are much smarter than many of us want to believe.  Kids do not expect us to be perfect. They just want to be loved and to know that they are worthy of the truth.  I want them to know things like the fact that Uncle John was gay and grew up in rural Mississippi in the sixties and seventies and  was ostracized to the point of having to move away. I want them to understand that when John was stricken with HIV, I was instructed to go along with the concocted story that he had cancer.  I want them to understand the ignorance that was endured not that long ago when a funeral home director refused to handle my uncle's body and their papa was forced to ensure that his brother was prepared properly for burial. These are things that shouldn't be hidden.  These are truths that help us become better. I really hate family secrets. They can drive a wedge between family members that is next to impossible to remove.  Here's the deal:  Be proud of who you are, of where you are from and of where you are headed.  Just own it.  Own who you are. Everyone has a story.  Some, admittedly, are much more interesting than others.  However, everyone's story is worth knowing.  Don't change someone's biographical truth simply because it embarrasses you.  Tell the truth.  Your children will thank you one day.