I’m always curious about other people’s families and their relationships since mine are so…odd. My parents left me to pursue their dream of international stardom in the world of competitive ballroom dancing. Guess I looked like excess baggage, and my aunt and uncle were willing to take me in.
Aunt Trudy is my mother’s sister. Their parents, who were from Italy, died before I was born. Uncle Victor is as steady as they come—so long as he doesn’t drink the wine he makes. He’s the only child of Lithuanians who had him late in life then died young. My mother’s parents raised him, so for all intents and purposes, he’s as Italian as my aunt. Being raised by someone other than his parents is probably why he didn’t bat an eye when my mother dumped her child on him just weeks before his own, Penny, was born.
My father grew up in an orphanage and met my mother at his first job—cleaning toilets for a dance instructor. Mom was a promising young student in need of a partner. Sounds romantic till you get to the part about me. They weren’t married yet when I was born, so I’m a bastard. Most people assume I’m Vic and Trudy’s kid, and I let them.
The truth is, my parents are alive. Pretending they’re dead makes their absence in my life tolerable.
And if that isn’t grounds for crankiness, I don’t know what is. Join me tomorrow for P is for Pie.
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