Make an Honest Bastard Out of Me, Will You?
Pause. Read that sentence over again, and I'll explain.
My grandmother held me as an infant and said, "she doesn't look like one of ours." I was the first - and only - child of her only son. Her unwed son. That son, Bill, my father (by proof of a blood-test at age 12), shrank from the discomfort of an illegitimate child and his family cowered behind him. My mother hoped my grandfather would support her (not financially) but he defered back to Bill, and then he passed away when I was two.
My mother's ex husband raised me. Put his name on my birth certificate. Married my mother again. Fathered my two younger brothers (and previously my older sister). Divorced my mother again.
His name is Michael. Like Michaela. That's me. Mom says I was named after the angel, though. That Bill suggested my name, as a matter of fact, and that it is coincidence that I was raised by a Michael.
I met grandmother when I was twenty years old. When I was old enough to drive to her house disenfranchised from my mother.
Her first words were, "well, I'm your grandmother." She said she doesn't remember meeting me as an infant. She's ninety years old. For twenty years I was more than welcomed to make that first step into the household that never claimed me. I was promised to be greeted with open arms and hearts. But they'd be damned if they ever encouraged me.
I saw my grandfather's books first. He studied English, too, before becoming a physician. His copy of Rubyat has stunning color illustrations. I made a quiet mention to Bill that unless the book was spoken for I would love to receive it, perhaps.
Four years later (four and a half) grandmother grants it to me.
I also inherited a gold pocket-watch since I am the only child of the only son. Later I will inherit land.
There is so much I could say about my grandmother, and this entire Evans family that was a vault against me for twenty years, and now towards me for four. It's not important what I can say, though. My injured feelings are healing.
It does give life a new color when you know that as a "love child" you were intended for naught and so whatever you do is bonus.
