Alright, so my father is my uncle…

Here is your first Jerry Springer moment of this blog…  My mother’s sister’s husband is my father.  My cousins are my sisters.

He said it was only “one night.” That it was a mistake, but that I was not.  We met regularly for the next month or so.  He might pick me up from work and we would go around town or stop someplace for a bite to eat.  All of that came to a jarring halt when we were on our way into K-Mart one day and my mother was coming out.  She was stunned to the point that traffic came to a halt outside of the front doors.  She looked on in terror and ran to the car.   My father said, “it was bound to happen sometime.”  He took me a block from my house and dropped me off in the usual fashion.

My grandparents were at my house.  My mother was sobbing in the living room on the comfy seat.  Her head was held by her hands.  I could not see her face.  A family meeting had been called with the local priest.  We went to my aunt’s workplace, sat around a conference table, mother sobbing and it was there that another element was added to my confusion.

My uncle was my father and according to my mother… she was raped by him.  My solace, however awkward, by knowing that my father was my uncle and that it was one stupid night turned back into an act of rage and terror.  I was in a vortex…  surrounded by people that “knew” what I was.  I was dead to the world.  I fell into a heap on the floor in a fit of sorrow and rage that noone could have ever imagined.  I never recieved therapy for any of this mess.  After this night is was something that the family shoved under the rug and acted like never happened.  I think that hurt me worse.

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