I made the mistake of asking my aunt for further information about the family members I could have used some further information about.
That was mistake number one.
She gave me no information. And she piled the whole “I know family secrets” bullshit on my plate. Oh, America, I’m sure if you have a fucked up family, you know how much fun the secrets are, how you hold onto them like a penny in the palm of your hand, pressing your finger against it every once in a while to check if it’s still there.
But my aunt is 66 today (I remember when my grandma turned 66, because we were all delighted that she was Phillips 66) and I come from a family of drunks, abusers, drug addicts, and charming assholes. Who doesn’t know that? Who are we keeping these secrets from? No one who’s not related to us gives two shits and we all know how we are.
Anyway, so I called my dad to tell him not to insist I call my aunt about this shit anymore and he denied telling me to call my aunt. I didn’t fight with him, though, because I couldn’t remember if it were him or Uncle B. who told me to call her. In all fairness, it may have been Uncle B.
The big secret she thinks is so awesome? There was a rumor that my great grandpa liked to fuck around on my great grandma.
My great grandpa has been dead since 1939. No children have ever come forward claiming to be his and, since they’d be my grandma’s age or older, if they exist, they’re all dead now too, most likely.
So, again, I’m just not seeing why it’s a secret. It could not matter less.
Except that it’s that penny in her palm.
Mistake two. My dad has decided to comfort me in my sad, childless state by informing me about some Robinson family member (whose last name is also not Robinson) who just had a kid and she’s “much” older than me.
The thing that cracks me up about my dad is how pragmatic he becomes the older I get. Thirty-four and still not married? Well, they just want to let me know they’d be happy if I settled down with anyone at this point, even a woman! Thirty-four and still no kids? Why wait for a husband? Get out there and start fucking like a football player. Who has time for conservative Christian morality when we have kids that need to be taken care of and grand kids we want?
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I don’t even know if I can have kids.
I don’t even know if I want kids.
I always thought I would just try not to get pregnant, but, if I did, then the decision was made for me–I’d have a kid. Little did I know…
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Well, shit.
This was supposed to be a kind of funny post and instead it’s bumming me out.
Oh well, you get what you pay for here at Tiny Cat Pants. I’m off to pick up my birth control pills. I wonder if, when the Republicans run my cooter, I’ll still be allowed to take them. I hope so. I’m enjoying not bleeding half to death.
Tiny Cat Pants 
I didn’t want kids. I wanted to be the kid forevah. And I’d have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for those meddling sperm.
Life changed drastically. And I’ve hated that at times. Really hated. As in the opposite of love. But I do love my girls. And as an avowed self-loather I can say with some certainty that I like me more as their dad than I’ve ever liked myself in any other role.
I was 35 when they were born. After the marriage my parents finally came to grips with the idea that I wasn’t gay but they’d given up hope on having grandkids.
I completely know where you’re coming from and all I can say is this: there’s nothing to worry about. In the end both options are awesome.
I know how you feel about people keeping family secrets. A couple of us are trying to find some stuff out and our lone uncle won’t talk.
AND then there is the other cousin(s) that we know have the old family Bible with all the OLD OLD OLD family tree stuff. Their mother “borrowed” it from the oldest brother to do her own family tree stuff. Then she died before giving it back. The children deny having it — this is after my Dad asked my cousin for it at her mom’s funeral (he felt it should go to the oldest brother and his kids) and the cousin said “I have just as much right to it as they do.” Now they tell us, their cousins, that they don’t have it (or it’s lost) and they’re hoarding the info. Some family is just useless.
Meanwhile, we have photos of their dad, who died prior to my birth – and we share what we have with them — photos of their Dad they’d never seen.
I have a friend with a relative who wanted to know who his birth father was, and his aunts wouldn’t share the info. This guy died and never knew. Sad. And just unnecessary.
How f**ked up is that?
Beth, you don’t even know how tempted I was to write my aunt and be like “On the scale of ‘normal’ to ‘fucked up,’ you know shit like ‘my grandpa slept around’ does not get you even out of normal, right?”
I mean, there’s fucked up shit in families. There’s fucked up shit in our family. Rumors of sexual dalliances are just not that fucked up. Shoot, that’s a Saturday for me.
Ha, okay, I wish.
I’ve got better family secrets than you.
What cracks me up – to this day – is how there are still all these family secrets flowing here and there — BUT they aren’t really secrets.
For example, I have a derelict cousin that lives in the eastern portion of TN. She’s a sorry excuse for a mother. Has never had a job as long as I’ve known her – married someone with no job as well. Did drugs with her kid from her first marriage. So, her kid ends up at a community college and gets busted for selling methamphetamine. Three year minimum in MS. So, I hear from it from the token gay cousin — the source of all good gossip. Turns out he’s told 6 of my other cousins, so it’s a “secret” but everybody knows about it. But the ones that know about it aren’t sure if certain other family members know about it. So, nobody really talks about it.
It’s just hysterical to me… the lengths that people go to…