Found Out

A list of facts I discovered out about my family by reading them — and the journals, news articles and letters that revealed the truth too difficult to be put into words.

The news: My father went to prison for involuntary manslaughter a few years before I was born. Coming home on a rainy night in his Corvette, he hit a car carrying a young couple, engaged to be married. The young girl died.

The discovery: I was 14, maybe 15. During one of my many deep dives into my mom’s collection of Dad’s things, my hand hit a recently laminated front- page article from The Indianapolis Star. The headline was a quote from my father,‘ How can I not go to prison when a young girl died?’

Since Dad’s death when I was six and mom 35, I had imagined my perfect golf- playing, goofy, country-club dad as the antidote to life I was then living with Mom and her rowdy alcoholic boyfriend. In my 40s, Mom handed me a batch of letters that my dad had received from my half brothers, half sisters and my mom, at the time his dental assistant, while he was in Indiana state prison. My sister, only 7 or 8 at the time, used one of those pens with five different inks to tell her father about another man, the minister at their church, helping her mom put up the Christmas tree. That man would become her stepfather, and my dad would marry his penpal and dental assistant .

The news: My grandfather and a pediatrician abused my mother when she was young.

The discovery: Mom kept a travel journal in the summer after she retired from teaching. While camping beachside in Delaware, she realized she had brought a Dr Phil/ Oprah Journal with prompts with her on vacation and had it in her tent. In between details about biking with her dog, Ramona buying a heavenly, back-saving Eddie Bauer air mattress at Target and eating a hotdog while the sun set, she wrote about the top moments of her life that made her question her worth and how she was vowing to fight for it back. She listed the limiting beliefs that kept her from healing and vowed to reclaim her value.

Mom handed the journal to me a few years later. She didn’t really want to talk about it — and still doesn’t. Can you blame her? She says Grandpa had apologized many times over. By the time I read this, he’d been dead for at least 20 years. I’m still holding onto anger on her behalf.

The news: My Uncle Bert took copious notes of songs he listened to, meals he’d eaten and a terrifying long sequence of jobs he held in Vietnam in 1969. In a pie chart, titled 1969-70 The Lost Year, he divided each piece into a month of the year. He squeezed in his 21st birthday between Easter and another dig in.

The discovery: Uncle Bert never talked about Vietnam. After his death June 1, my cousin shared the journals with Mom and me. They belong in the Library of Congress as evidence of a young man trying to hold onto himself through lists and details he could stomach to record.

The news: Dad cut his hair three times himself between Paris, Rome, and Bologna in 1976. He also had blisters from wearing new shoes, likely as an effort not to be found out as a rube (American). My mom noticed everything on this trip to Europe, when Dad’s cancer was in remission and Grandma, long divorced, stayed with me. They rented a car. Mom noted that men in Italy wear tight pants, especially in the butt and everyone in the countryside is so nice and all the flowers are gorgeous. She also ate a hamburger at McDonald’s in Bologna!

The discovery: Just yesterday, I was looking for stationery thick enough to hide a check I was sending to my sister — for my brother’s cremation...you really can’t make this shit up. I reaching into my own “drawer a very important things” and her travel notes from Europe fell out of a three-ring binder I kept during my treatment for an eating disorder.

The news: I was two weeks late and causing Mom immense discomfort when I was finally born May 18, 1972. That morning, she sent Dad to the New Albany Country Club to golf. At around 11, she gave birth to me. She wrote in her journal (extra appointment books from Dad’s dental office): Whew! Glad she’s here, glad that’s over!

The discovery: When Mom downsized and moved into a smaller home, I received at least six journals, detailing the life of a young married couple. I know when they saw “ The Godfather” and what she thought of it: ‘pretty good.” She did not like yoga, but did try it — once. I read about numerous cocktail parties at Jinky and Max’s house (it had a spiral staircase — that I can remember!), cookouts and the doctor appointment at which Dad learned he had colon cancer.

I plan to take equally copious notes when I go to Italy in September. I’ve always taken really good notes. It’s clearly in my DNA

It’s time to write my own story, make my own discoveries and forgive myself for always asking: Is there more to this you’re not telling me?