Long story short,

This morning, someone on facebook asked the question "If you could write a note to your younger self in exactly 5 words, what would it say?" My response would be a paragraph.  I'll post my response to the question here on my blog instead.

It would be a note telling myself that when my sister and I were in Memphis for the summer, when my grandmother's neighbor asked my Aunt Lee if I was the boy Jean (my mom) adopted -and Aunt Lee saw that my sister (5 yrs old) and I ( 8 yrs old) were listening, and she said "Ssssh!" to the woman, and when my sister and I went running back to our grandmother's house to call my mom to ask her about it, and she said "That woman don't know what the hell she's talking about. We've been enemies since we were kids and she's still stirring up mess. It's a lie, it's a lie!" And I believed her.
 Knowing what I know now- and only because my nephew asked me have I ever met my real mother, and I found out I was adopted when I asked my mother what my nephew was talking about-

Long story short- I wish I didn't believe my mother when she lied to me. I wish I had pressed for more information, or insisted that Aunt Lee or Aunt Evon ( my mom's two younger sisters) or my grandparents or any of the Caseys ( my father's people- none of which treated me like I was flesh and blood) would tell me the truth, instead of my finding out when I was 44 yrs old.  Everyone knew, but me. All the Browns (moms' people) and the Caseys (sister's dads' people).  From my nephew, who was 11. It had been a source of contention between my mom and my sister for years. My sister wanted me to know, and my sister wanted to take the secret to the grave.

When I asked why there were no baby pictures of me, or any pictures of myself under than 2, my mother said that they got lost in the move. We did move a few times when we were younger, so I believed her.    


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Now, I don't believe anything anyone tells me. Especially from people who love me.