I hope it’s not wrong that I vomited my Corn Chex.
mmm
My mother started keeping a diary when she found out she had cancer, and I found it after she died. It was filled with delusional ramblings and bitter (and factually wrong) lashings out at everyone in the family. I told my sisters, “You can read it if you want, but I don’t think anyone should.” They agreed, and I destroyed the diary. I’ve never told anyone what was in it, and never will.
Since my mother never had an unexpressed thought, there were no deep, dark secrets. That didn’t stop my aunt from believing my father had an affair while he and my mother were married. My aunt told my sister, hurting her deeply, and pretty much estranging my aunt from me for the rest of her life.
My grandmother must have taken some sort of secret to the grave with her, and it could very well be sealed forever when my eldest aunt passes.
Both my maternal grandparents had blue eyes. My mom has brown eyes. While it is apparently genetically possible, it’s much more likely that her parentage is not what she was told. It could be that grandma had an affair; I wouldn’t be very surprised. Grandma was apparently a very vivacious woman, and Grandpa was . . . not.
There’s also the question of the very large gap in ages. Mom’s oldest sister is 16 years older than her. This woman’s husband and mother-in-law treated her very badly, and she took it. It makes me wonder if maybe my “aunt” is really my grandmother, and my mom was given to my great-grandmother to raise.
If it happened that way, it’s for the best. My “aunt” turned out to be far more interested in preserving appearances than dealing with family problems, and her daughter (my aunt?) bears the emotional scars.
Just being nosy here, but their wedding wouldn’t have been the 26th, would it?
It’s my birthday.
As for family secrets, after my father died, my mom found his marriage certificate from his first marriage. Now, the marriage wasn’t any kind of secret; he was a widower when she met him. But the date wasn’t what he’d told any of us. It turns out he married his first wife in March of the year my oldest brother was born - in September. He didn’t even tell his second wife about that.
The funny thing is, he told us they were married in November of the previous year, but he couldn’t remember the date. Totally plausible from a man who had a hard time with birthdates. I think he just didn’t want to give too much detail to the lie. He could tell it, but he couldn’t expand on it.
To each his own I guess. You know what they say… Beauty is in the eye of the beav older.
So, Grandpa wasn’t a very vivacious woman?
Imagine how things would have been different if he had been.
Well, my parents are still (thanks to God), but I am still trying to help my mother with the family mystery…the fate of her uncle Eugene.
This guy disappeared in 1929-nobody in the family knows what happened to him.
He was an ensign in the US Navy (1916-1920), and his last known address was a veteran’s home in Chigao (the building no longer exists).
I haven’t been able to find anything on this guy…my mother really would like to know his fate, before she leaves this life.
After my father died, and right before the house was sold, I discovered that a section of door-way molding above his private office door was false. Behind it was an empty space about the volume of two house bricks recessed back into the wall.
Whatever was there was long gone though.
Maybe this is one post you shouldn’t have signed with your initials. mmm, vomit.
Just before my mother died, I finally got her to confess the truth about my older brother, he was born 2 years before my parents married but it was assumed my father was his. This despite the fact he bears very little resemblance to me or our other brothers and sisters.
Apparently Mom was a party girl back then (early 50’s) and particularly enjoyed the company of soldiers stationed at nearby Fort Lewis. Sometime in November of 1952 she was drunk and ended up in a car with 3 GI’s. Things happened and Mom ended up pregnant but did not have a clue who the actual father was. My brother was born in July of 1953.
I waited almost a year after out mother passed away before I told my brother. He suspected something like that. My brother had adoption papers I never knew about, my father adopted him in 1958 when he was 5.
This is turning out to be a really interesting thread. These are great stories. Also interesting that so many of the secrets revolve around sex.
Or Ted Bundy?
Porn.
Realizing both my parents were blood type A and I was B.
DNA testing proved that my mom was my mother, but dad wasn’t my father. I’ve asked around, and nobody admits to knowing nothing.
Apparently, he set up a little projector in the attic, which only he had access to. 
Quite the slippery slope we’ve established for grandpa here.
I found out that my mother’s sister had been in a sanitarium after suffereing a breakdown when her husband died of polio. I never knew why my aunt was always a little off; now I know. I discovered all of my father’s history and ancestry, none of which my mother would talk about. I found out that my great grandfather committed suicide by gunshot. I found a living first cousin on my father’s side and established communication with him.
You don’t like them much, do you?
Also - no secrets that I know of in my family. But my wife’s Grandma was another one who had a husband simply disappear in the 1930s and never reappear.
Joe
A few years after my father died, my mother and I happened to see a couple jitterbug dancing on tv. She casually mentioned that in high school, back in the 30s, my father was a champion jitterbug dancer. They used to have a contest every week, and the girls would fight over who would be his partner.
The thing is, I have never, ever seen my father dance, or do anything that can remotely be called dancing. I can’t even imagine him dancing. It’s as if she were talking about a different person.
Then, a few years later, my mother died. Among her possessions was my father’s high school year book. Next to each student’s picture, they listed their extracurricular activities and their nickname. Apparently my father’s nickname was “Happy Go Lucky.” The problem is that in reality, he was the least happy-go-lucky person I’ve ever known. He had a horrible temper that could be triggered by any little thing. He held grudges. He was judgmental, irritable and narrow-minded. I’m convinced that they called him “Happy Go Lucky” sarcastically. I mean, nobody could possibly change that much.
Oh, and the yearbook had no mention of his dancing.