In 2019, I met some of my paternal family members, about a year after they found me on Facebook, two of the aunts. My father had never told the family about me, like my two half siblings of which he never spoke to them. May I say the sisters are closer to my age. As a result the oldest sister was under the impression that she was the oldest child and therefore gawd forbid your’s truly apparently knocked her off the pedestal in a March 2019 post of the reunion; but I had the class to use the hashtag #firstgrandchild because it was a) a fact and b) that sister is the first granddaughter, so WTF, right?
I realized that my paternal grandmother was this close to cheating death with a rare cancer. The family waited to an autistic blow up of yours truly (that if they would be open to say in the first place), that sign #1 was that they don’t see age in the grandchildren. The youngest grandchild is close to 16, while I’m the oldest (35.) The boundaries are, don’t tell the literal “children” about her condition, not even a yea or nay or any one liner at all. Maybe that’s a thing between us – the hierarchal children – and my paternal grandmother. This is the problem, selective boundaries to enhance control.
When my mother took me down to North Carolina in November of 2019, her 75th birthday, I learned more about the cancer scare, then getting flack for causing a ruckus from the autistic blowup a couple months before – i.e. disciplining an estranged child if the child was theirs from all along – even if he’s approaching 33 and atypical. I do not know if it’s a Japanese culture of strict parenting, strict, static and flat family structures or if the family overall being conservative is the thing.
While most of the family didn’t understand Melanie (and yes to be fair understandably so) another thing from that previous October was “you’re the only [legal surname redacted] remaining”. In my head, I was like; not my problem you had mostly girls, and married other people. As much as I don’t spread sex jokes, one comic relief remarks I told some people, they love to spread love amongst many partners. Nearly half of the 10 grandchildren come from different fathers, so I had nearly 5 or 6 1/2 siblings and cousins. I am going to be honest, that this was a significant anxiety, because I didn’t know who was blood related, and who wasn’t.
Purity was another obsession amongst one of the aunts. The family was bounded by the French-Canadian surname and the Japanese genes. This isn’t like a lovey-dovey hippie family unit of the 1970s, who were all loving. This family has NPD roots, my father being one of them, the allegedly bubbly aunt was a pump and dumper, and the relationship revolving Facebook and an in-person meet in April of that year in San Diego County; has all the hallmarks of “lovebombing”. While I may had come off as such too, the common difference between a narcissist and an autistic, is the autistic tends to have a communication issue, that is often reflecting inadvertently from the said culture they may not be aware of; and often will have remorse, while the narc often has no emotional unless it hurts them, because it disengages them (“narcissistic injury”).
“I am afraid they will stick a needle in my arm and draw the family blood in” – a remark to my therapist at the time.
While that was intended to be an idiom, it actually became very literal. Part of it was a power-differential that despite being the oldest member of the family (the autism is a contributing factor, but not the identifying problem) was how juvenile the family was to all of the children. There was many inferences of lack of one on one relationships; and also a lack of dynamics of the power. if you’re 35 and you need to be “straightened out”, like a 17 year old cousin, you may be expected to go to a town next to Fort Bragg. Talking about 17 year old ideals in front of other family members with a dynamic age and power differences (from a “typical” family’s perspective) is ill relevant. A child is a child, and they will always be the child.
How the hell can that family grow if they are to remain as a child and follow the aging parent’s marching orders?
The uncle lives the next town over, but the cousin who was becoming close with; has another father, and many father figures – including my biological father.
Ironically another sign I learned about this family was the language, “dad” or “mom”. They initially referred to my biological father as my “dad”, but it was until after this experience that I realize the only time I call my father my “dad” is only if he claims ownership of the creation of his son, of which he repeatedly denied from conception to after birth. While this may offend the family, the inability to accept the hierarchal child’s feedback of feeling literally like a bastard child does not make them flinch. It’s a very militant, obey your “master” even if the “master” is a complete narcissist in himself.
I do not regret to say I hate my biological father. He denied the pain my mother had to go through, and totally denied the existence of his child for who knows what reason. I am not going to say it’s his loss, that’s giving him credit. He dehumanized a creation. If god has nothing in his plans to hold him to account; I don’t know how else to say I hate him and he gave me life I didn’t ask for. He would not approve of me because I am not manly-enough for his standards, despite him coming off as pussy during the 9 months of my creation. Yes, he denies me, so he’s not that “dad” I call him a “pussy” – so grow a pair if you’re so triggered! But yet that deed he did is completely OK for so many?
When 2019 came to a close, it started the trend to how I completely distrust not only men, but anyone with masculine traits. I would never trust anyone who was manly ever again and would solely find, people who were non-competitive, loving and doubled up on feminine figures at all costs. All the fears I had with the family for many years and during the year of the so called reunion was so true, but wanted to be proven so wrong.
#