I have brown eyes. I once had dark blond hair. Now it’s light golden brown. It’s also curlier than I recalled.

If my father was born in 1894, very few people know me. And it’s through no choice of my own. I was hidden with my mother’s kind: The fellow descendants of Vikings.

If my father spent his Vietnam experience in Myrtle Beach surfing my parents are very different than me and I wonder if I’m even their child. It’s not a coping mechanism. It’s an honest question. And they didn’t like it and don’t and tried to alter my soul to suit their tastes. It didn’t work like they had hoped but instead ruined anyone’s ability to understand me…easily at least. I don’t hate them. It’s just a tragedy. That’s all.

I’m not like you. I can almost guarantee it. And you’ll just have to accept that. Unless we are alike…but I’d bet 99% of the people reading this aren’t like me. If they were I’d be more understood.

Maybe Helena Bonham Carter. Maybe Winona Ryder. But not. Not really. But…not entirely not either.

Can you imagine an unintended daughter of one of the biggest bootleggers of the 1920’s…who spent time in jail…and yet came from legitimate wealth and may even have even descended from old money…who killed people…and was friends with Al Capone and Humphrey Bogart? Both? I grew up using his old glass Christmas ornaments from the 1940’s on my family Christmas tree. Every year. …Do you imagine me? No? I’m not at all surprised. *laugh*

Do think it’s been fun? It hasn’t. I used to be such a happy baby. I never cried. I didn’t want to disturb my parents.

I’m disappointed.