Chapter 2: Fragments of My Father

If my mom was a mystery, much of my dad's story is akin to a legend or fable. Neither of my parents really talked about their childhoods, and as I child, I spent minimal time alone in my dad's care to hear his. To this day, most of what I know of his story is secondhand from my mom and from his siblings.

When my dad was in his tweens, his mother fell ill.

My dad was born in Trenton, New Jersey, where he spent most of his pre-teen life. He was the eldest son and first of four siblings. As far as I know, all four were children by the same man, my grandpa Robert, who was not a part of the family. Unfortunately, I don't know a lot about what my dad's life was like in New Jersey. I do know that his sole caregiver was his mother, my grandmother, Dorothy. I suspect that since she was independent and unwed, she likely had to some type of job and worked at least part-time. I don't know how common childcare was at that time, so my dad likely had both a lack of supervision at home and significant responsibilities in overlooking his younger siblings.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, Grandma Dorothy was in her late 20s and unwed with four young kids. Cancer treatment was abysmal at that time and so a diagnosis was akin to a death sentence. Back then, it was thought to be improper to have children visit a parent at the hospital, and in most cases hospitals outright had visitor regulations that prohibited minors. Since they were not allowed inside, my dad and his siblings had to say goodbye to their mother from her third-or fourth floor hospital window. No hugs, no kisses, no goodbye.

Afterwards, it didn't get much better.

I didn't ever find out why Grandma Dorothy was living in New Jersey alone. My dad’s father, Grandpa Robert, was in Virginia. There are so many unclear details around this. Did they originally live in New Jersey together and she stayed when he left? Or did grandma move to New Jersey after leaving Grandpa Robert for a fresh start? Were they ever married, separated, divorced? Unclear. What is clear is that at that time, Grandpa Robert was living in Virginia with another women and her kids.

The story goes that after Grandma Dorothy passed away, Grandpa Robert wanted to do the right thing and take in my dad and his siblings.

However, that's not what happened. Grandma Dorothy was youthful and likely had no expectations of dying and leaving behind her children at a young age. As a sole provider, she likely did not have the means to have a will drafted. Even if she did have one, it was unlikely to have been updated. Regardless of her wishes, since she was unwed, her children would first go to next of kin. Which at the time was Great-Grandma Eva.

Tragedy beget tragedy.

Normally going to live with your grandma is seen as a good thing in American culture. Grandma's place is like Disneyland. In this case, it absolutely was the climax of a great tragedy. What I didn’t know until well in my own adulthood was that Grandma Dorothy was not on speaking terms with her mother. She had run away from home as a teenager and had a tense and challenging relationship with her mom. In a different outcome, my grandma likely would have NEVER consented to her children living in the home she abandoned, but life isn't fair. In fact, it can be quite ironic and cruel.

Off to grandma's my dad and his siblings went. My dad spent the rest of his young adult life in South Boston, Virginia where he was raised by his grandmother, my Great-Grandma, Eva. She took my father and his siblings back to the place her own daughter fled from.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if Grandpa Robert had been successful in getting custody. Would things from this point on be different? My dad always seemed to respect Great-Grandma Eva, but honestly, I'm not quite sure if respect is the same as love. In hindsight, I think he was driven to making himself look great in her eyes to prove her wrong.

It is possible to have the wrong kind of generational learning.

My Great-Grandma was indisputably a difficult character. There are many stories of Great-Grandma Eva's cruelty and spite from various viewpoints and narrators. Some stories align well with malignant narcissism, and although I cannot prove any diagnosis, it is very clear that at minimum she was a chronic sufferer of narcissistic tendencies.

Great-Grandma lived on her own. Her kids were all grown, and her husband had already passed by this time. The story goes that she married young, dedicated her early life to her own children, and after they left, she wanted to party and enjoy her independence. She had no desire to be the grandma that the grandchildren came to stay with every weekend.

Grandpa Robert lived not too far from where Great-Grandma Eva resided, but she was determined to keep him away. She spoke ill of him to the kids, leading them to believe that they were twice abandoned by their birth father. Anytime he would try to visit, she'd hide the kids, and shoo him away. Strangely, she would let Grandpa Robert's brother, Uncle Paul, who was much lighter-skinned, come visit frequently.

Appearances matter, but only on the surface.

My Great-Grandma Eva was a well-respected church going woman who bravely took in her daughter's kids after a youthful tragedy. When I was around 7 or 8, my dad packed my brothers and I in the car and we drove all the way from California to Virginia to visit. I remember on Sunday, I had to get up early and get dressed in my best attire and go with my mom and great-grandma to church. I was explicitly told that I had to be well-behaved and not speak unless spoken to. Great-Grandma Eva had a reserved spot in the church. Appearances mattered to my great-grandma - the truth, less so.

My dad, like his father and his siblings, was a very black man. I mention that because I think it is important. Great-Grandma Eva had everyone convinced that her mother was part-Cherokee and that Native-American blood flowed in the family. My father would always chirp this, as to why his daughter's hair was so long, or why our kinky hair curls were looser. Much later, genetic testing would prove a more likely answer – someone was likely a racist, a liar, and a narcissist.  

Multiple genetic tests have come up with the same answer. No direct ancestor has ever been identified to confirm any Native American or indigenous heritage. There is absolutely no Native-American ancestry in my dad’s family, amongst other deceptions and lies. Notably my Great-Grandmother's husband lived his whole life, not knowing his son was not his. That truth would have never been revealed if her son didn’t have a genetic disease in his 40s that his “father” should have had. The truth was an inconvenience to her narrative.

My father had a troubled childhood and learned from a master manipulator. It is no surprise that this would follow in these hallowed footsteps.

What I know about my dad as a tween and teen is that he was a troublemaker. He was boisterous, opinionated, got into fights with other kids, and would talk back to adults. He was also highly intelligent, witty, charming and he was also a star athlete. Depending on who you’d talk to, he was either a horrendous brat, or a hometown hero. The consensus was that he was a polarizing personality. If he liked and respected you, you earned his kindness, and if he didn't like you, you'd know it.

My dad was not sympathetic to Grandpa Robert and in fact he refused to acknowledge him for many years. My dad fully bought my great-grandma's narrative and resented his father for abandoning him and his siblings. If it wasn’t for his sister, who decided to find the truth of her family history, some of this history would likely not be known. She bravely sought the truth and revealed it to her siblings. In fact, my aunt is the only reason why I have any sense of my family history and I’m grateful to her for being brave enough to find these answers for us.

In fact, my aunt is likely the only reason I ever got to meet a living grandparent in my lifetime. During one of the trips to Virginia, I met my grandpa once. Before that trip, I had no idea that I had a living grandparent. . In fact, before we got in the car to go over to his house, I had always been told my grandparents all died before I was born. I was probably around 9 at that point, so I remember it being a significant shift, but being told by my mom not to ask any questions. I can’t recall Grandpa Robert saying a single word to me but there is a photo of him with me and my brothers. I don’t know if my dad ever talked much to his father after that, but later, he cared enough to go back to my grandpa’s funeral when I was in my teens.

Leaving home, like his mother before him.

Right out of high school, my dad joined the Navy and left Virginia to travel the world. I’m not sure what spurred him to join the military, but most of his siblings followed suit and joined different branches.  I also know that although my dad called home to talk with Great-Grandma Eva many of his siblings did not spend extended time with him after this. My dad would spend hours on the phone with great-grandma, like they were best friends. It's likely he was the golden child.

By my aunts and uncle's accounts, my dad was a difficult personality, but he was a good-hearted and natured child. Yes, he caused trouble, but usually in the service of some greater justice. Something changed in him after his time in the Navy. Or likely, something shook his sense of fairness and justice winning over corruption and it never ever healed. His time in the Navy, is underscored with a drunk-driving offense, anger management courses, and a general resentment and lack of respect for authority figures. He also managed to get secret clearances, learn enough Russian to get a special assignment, and gained a talent of repairing mechanical and electrical machines. I’m still not sure how he managed to finish his service with an honorable discharge. He was always extremely polarizing in his behavior and demeanor.

It's important to add now to the story that my dad was younger than my mom. About 5 years younger to be exact. He was in his mid-20s finishing up his five years of service in the Navy when he met my mom at a party in San Diego. I suspect he was maybe 24 and she was 29. This is where their story begins.