Revenge of the Bastard Son

I don't know how men can be such jerks. I hate men. I guess being raised by women and not growing up with a father has something to do with it. Especially after being lied to about his existence. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I was afraid to ask my mom about my dad, and she never talked about him. Ever. I asked my aunts and cousins who he was. My cousins didn't know. One Aunt told me he was a no-good drunk and I didn't want to know him. Another Aunt told me he was dead. I never asked about him again. I always wondered why I didn't have a dad, and was ashamed to tell anyone. Back in the 60's it was taboo to not have a dad. Especially with the Irish Catholics. (My mom stopped taking me to church at an early age for some reason...) I was a secret. It was heartbreaking to see other kids with their dads.

I remember when I was 11 years old, and my Mom and I moved to another relatives house. I ended up making a friend with a kid named Dominic. We became best friends. He was my only friend. One night he started bragging about where his dad worked and telling me about how strong his dad was. He then asked me where my dad worked. I told him I didn't have a dad. This blew him away. His jaw dropped, his eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he said to me, "That means you're a Bastard! You're a son of a bitch!" He said he had to go, and never talked to me again. (I believe his family was devout Catholic.) This shocked me. The reality of the situation really started to hit me that night. I was something that people are afraid of. Not having a dad was a lot more serious than I thought. I don't know why he called me a son of a bitch, and I later found out what a bastard was. I never again told any kids I didn't have a father. I lied several times to other kids about my dad after that episode.

When I was 16, I finally asked my aunt what nationality my dad was. She told me he was Italian. Up to that point I managed to lie through school saying I was 100% Irish.

When I was 23, my uncle asked me if my mom ever told me who my dad was. (my uncle will be another post; a big post) I told him no. He must have said something to my mom. She called me and asked me to meet her. She told me all about what happened and told me my dad's name. Apparently, he seperated from his wife and started dating my mom. My mom got pregnant abou the time he broke up with her and reconsiliated with his wife. I was a mistake. I was shocked to learn that he actually lived about two miles from where I grew up (age 11-18), and he had a wife and four daughters. Apparently, his wife and daughters didn't know I existed.

After I found out, I got really drunk with my friends and went to his house. I knocked on the screen door. His wife was sitting on the chair in the living room. She looked up at me and said "What do you want!" I told her I'm Eunice's son, and I'm here to see Joe (my father). My father came around the bar, stirring a drink, looking at the door. He had an older couple behind him. He came up to the screen door and we just stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. They were my eyes. I was looking at my eyes. It was so strange. He finally said, "Can you come back another time? I have company." I said "Sure. I just wanted to stop by and say hi." I turned around and left. Well, I guess I let the cat out of the bag.

I later heard that his wife divorced him after that. I didn't want that to happen. It just did. Revenge of the bastard son. That was back in 1983. You know he still never tried to contact me. I guess someone will tell me when he dies. I never got the balls to contact my sisters. I don't know them, and I don't know if they know about me. If so, do they hold me responsible for their parents divorce? I don't remember the four girls from school. Two are older than me, two are younger than me. I guess I never met them. I am the secret. I am the bastard son.