Five years ago, we learned about the secret. The big secret. About us. About my brother and me. And ever since then, we have been absorbing it into our system. Like all big-sized secrets, it was shrouded in shame, and once the shame was shelled, surprises.
Because it was a big secret, I had the feeling that no one else, or at least very few others knew about it. I mean, it was about us, and we didn’t know. And then just two days ago, I was down visiting my older sister in central California. She is about to turn 91 and she is running out of funds. She is blind and I was down there to help figure things out and to visit, and like always, we talked about old days, about our parents, and then my sister Pat started talking about her old friend, Doris.
Pat has known Doris ever since the family moved out from Illinois to South Gate California back in 1946. Doris and Pat have remained friends all of these years, all the way into their 90’s they have remained close and in touch. Physical disability has kept them from visiting each other for the last several years, but they can still talk, which they did a few months ago. And because Pat knew I would be visiting soon, she thought she would tell her friend Doris about the secret, and see what she thought about it all. Doris said: “Oh, honey, I already knew all about that. I’ve known for years and years”. My sister was stunned and she asked how Doris could possibly know because she had never talked to her about it, and Doris told her that her mother had told her way back when our mother confided the secret years ago.
Now one idea that my sister Pat has always maintained about our mother is that she never had any friends, and certainly not any that she would share this kind of secret with. But, apparently, that was not the case. Doris knew the whole story from her own mother who was close enough to our mom to receive this news, this secret that was intended to be a secret taken to the grave.
That’s the thing about secrets, especially big ones, ones that contain shame and pleasure and joy and danger in one giant knot, is that you just have to tell someone. Because if you don’t tell you are going to burst, but if you do tell the wrong person, all the gates of hell could be released. So, Doris’ mom must have been one of the right people. Someone who was trusted enough not to spill the beans, except to Doris, of course, who apparently was enough like her mom that she did not share this secret even with her best friend, my sister Pat.
Just when I had finished writing, what I wanted to be my final piece on the secret, comes this little surprise about Doris and her mom. And I can’t help but wonder, who else knew? Who else knew that the lineman regularly came down the power pole in South Gate to visit our tiny little cracker box of a house and that the result of those visits was me and my brother? Who else knew our sisters were actually half-sisters, that we were English, Scottish and Irish rather than Czech?
I learned about that secret five years ago when I was 68 years old. Over the last five years, I have come to accept and even love the secret. I talk about it all of the time to whoever will listen. I play Diana Ross’ “Love Child” song regularly and with glee, and I kind of feel, like OK it is time to move on, and just when I do a new little surprise like Doris will pop up out of nowhere.
There was another secret surprise this very month of February. Two weeks earlier I had flown down to Orange County to see my brother, my one full sibling………..It turns out I’ve got 8 other half-siblings. Anyway, on that visit, he says to me: “Want to go and visit bio-dad’s grave”? Of course, I did. We wound through the hills of Whittier and when we found it, I lay down on top of the grave and took a selfie of me and the lineman’s gravestone. I talked to him about the fact that this is the closest I’d ever get to spending time with him, and that I was glad to be there and I said thank you over and over again. And I told him that I kind of liked being a bastard and that it was all OK, that the shame that kept my brother and my origin story a secret was a source of celebration for us both, and that I was so grateful to have this unlikely life. It seems as if the secret and the surprises it holds will keep on giving. I wonder if the lineman had ever met Doris? Or her mother? What do you think? Myself, I kind of hope that he did.
It’s Ash Wednesday 2023 and there in my email inbox is a writing prompt on secrets, and I know that the secret at the center of my existence will keep presenting me with new surprises. And I will cherish each one as I celebrate knowing where my ashes come from.
— DanielSouthGate
Because it was a big secret, I had the feeling that no one else, or at least very few others knew about it. I mean, it was about us, and we didn’t know. And then just two days ago, I was down visiting my older sister in central California. She is about to turn 91 and she is running out of funds. She is blind and I was down there to help figure things out and to visit, and like always, we talked about old days, about our parents, and then my sister Pat started talking about her old friend, Doris.
Pat has known Doris ever since the family moved out from Illinois to South Gate California back in 1946. Doris and Pat have remained friends all of these years, all the way into their 90’s they have remained close and in touch. Physical disability has kept them from visiting each other for the last several years, but they can still talk, which they did a few months ago. And because Pat knew I would be visiting soon, she thought she would tell her friend Doris about the secret, and see what she thought about it all. Doris said: “Oh, honey, I already knew all about that. I’ve known for years and years”. My sister was stunned and she asked how Doris could possibly know because she had never talked to her about it, and Doris told her that her mother had told her way back when our mother confided the secret years ago.
Now one idea that my sister Pat has always maintained about our mother is that she never had any friends, and certainly not any that she would share this kind of secret with. But, apparently, that was not the case. Doris knew the whole story from her own mother who was close enough to our mom to receive this news, this secret that was intended to be a secret taken to the grave.
That’s the thing about secrets, especially big ones, ones that contain shame and pleasure and joy and danger in one giant knot, is that you just have to tell someone. Because if you don’t tell you are going to burst, but if you do tell the wrong person, all the gates of hell could be released. So, Doris’ mom must have been one of the right people. Someone who was trusted enough not to spill the beans, except to Doris, of course, who apparently was enough like her mom that she did not share this secret even with her best friend, my sister Pat.
Just when I had finished writing, what I wanted to be my final piece on the secret, comes this little surprise about Doris and her mom. And I can’t help but wonder, who else knew? Who else knew that the lineman regularly came down the power pole in South Gate to visit our tiny little cracker box of a house and that the result of those visits was me and my brother? Who else knew our sisters were actually half-sisters, that we were English, Scottish and Irish rather than Czech?
I learned about that secret five years ago when I was 68 years old. Over the last five years, I have come to accept and even love the secret. I talk about it all of the time to whoever will listen. I play Diana Ross’ “Love Child” song regularly and with glee, and I kind of feel, like OK it is time to move on, and just when I do a new little surprise like Doris will pop up out of nowhere.
There was another secret surprise this very month of February. Two weeks earlier I had flown down to Orange County to see my brother, my one full sibling………..It turns out I’ve got 8 other half-siblings. Anyway, on that visit, he says to me: “Want to go and visit bio-dad’s grave”? Of course, I did. We wound through the hills of Whittier and when we found it, I lay down on top of the grave and took a selfie of me and the lineman’s gravestone. I talked to him about the fact that this is the closest I’d ever get to spending time with him, and that I was glad to be there and I said thank you over and over again. And I told him that I kind of liked being a bastard and that it was all OK, that the shame that kept my brother and my origin story a secret was a source of celebration for us both, and that I was so grateful to have this unlikely life. It seems as if the secret and the surprises it holds will keep on giving. I wonder if the lineman had ever met Doris? Or her mother? What do you think? Myself, I kind of hope that he did.
It’s Ash Wednesday 2023 and there in my email inbox is a writing prompt on secrets, and I know that the secret at the center of my existence will keep presenting me with new surprises. And I will cherish each one as I celebrate knowing where my ashes come from.
— DanielSouthGate
DanielSouthGate, so nice to see you in this group of Dippers! "Macoff"
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