Perhaps having lived a foolishly simple existence and being such a trusting naivete sort of person growing up I always thought that my destiny had called for total exclusion from knowing the personas and life styles of the people who purportedly had taken care of me as a child, my grandparents when I arrived at their home here as I wrote just under the orange squiggy and where my life actually started to bloom.
Where I can, I will avoid rehashing stories previously written about the devil I met upon my entry at that hell in this diary. In order to effectively give the reader a clear picture of this story, it will be necessary at times to go back and remind you of an issue.
Right off the bat, one issue I want to remind you of is that of the Goon I came to see as the odious sight of a human being, my grandfather as he beat and clubbed poor Hobos off running trains while working as a paid oppressor by the Southern Pacific Railroad Company when I lived in his home. I wrote earlier about the hate and dislike I developed for my grandfather in the second to last paragraph on this link here for his brutality towards poor Hobos at the time.
This is a diary about my grandfather as I question that refrain that tells of how cycles are part of the foundations of families. For example, the saying goes that if one treats his children brutally, that child will grow up to treat his children brutally also. That is the cycle in that refrain or saying. Some do not accept this theory. I too am skeptical but now I do not know for sure. However, the cycle of brutally does not apply to my grandfather here. The cycle he initiated with his children was not of a brutal nature. His cycle was one of infidelity and betrayal. And I had to pay a heavy price. I will attempt to make sense of why I am now a genealogist. I blame all of this on my grandfather for forcing me to now go out on a journey to search his cycle of infidelity and betrayal. A cycle of infidelity and betrayal that infected my own mother.
But today I laugh at those people. I laugh not because they are all now deceased, except for that skinny girl Amelia who greeted me at her door that morning when I arrived at her door. For I respect the dead. But they are all gone, deceased, hasta la vista baby, now I can laugh and tell all the stories that were hidden so clumsily from me all my life.
In the diary last week I wrote in the second to last paragraph, But hey wait! Next you will read that my grandfather cheated on who I had thought all my life to be my grandmother. She was not. She never was my grandmother regardless of how many times you read when I wrote that she was. She was actually my mother`s stepmother.
I need to step back from the day I arrived at my "Step-grandmother`s" home as a child. I need to go back to the days when only my older aunt Hortencia had already been born and was a mere child. My other aunts and uncles were not born yet. There was only my grandfather who was Italian and my grandmother who was born in Mexico when Hortencia was born in San Antonio.
Shortly after my aunt Hortencia was born my grandfather met a young lady named Beatrice and had a relationship with her. My mother was born. MY grandmother was Beatrice. Simple as that. Shortly after my mother`s birth, my real grandmother Beatrice died in a car accident, as the story goes. The mere thought of how hated my mother was by all of my other aunts in later years has now come home to roost with me. The growling and hissing that my step-grandmother used on my mother the day I stood on her porch that morning finally has made sense to me.
The many times I wrote of my aunt Elvira`s hate for my mother and me starting on the very first day she saw me now makes sense. During a comment discussion in one of my diaries some lady commented on wanted to know why my mother was hated so much. At the time I did not have a clue. Now I know. Now I know why my mother ran away with an older man to Austin, Texas where I was born and the cycle my grandfather initiated on my mother started the churn slowly but surely then. It is only appropriate to mention that my brother Joe was born first. We had the same biological father and mother.
Then my mother had three other siblings -- by another man. And the cycle was true to my own grandfather`s making. But they are all gone now. Only my aunt Amelia who has become quite close to me and my half-sister who some here know as my "baby mom". Amelia is my rock and a better source than any search engine out there now, including Ancestry. Amelia relates true stories of how rotten and full of worms my family tree turned, to the extent that it fully disappeared from the ground, leaving only her to keep the cycle alive and tell about it.
Recently on my journey through Family Search I made a shocking find. My mother had a son listed in the 1930 - 1997 birth index collection as having been born one year after my own birth, by a man not my biological father. If I had known how I would feel finding what I have found so far, my money would have gone on rejecting all of this genealogy searches or even writing about it. I now know the name of this sibling on my mother`s side. I also know there are others, probably, hopefully still out there.
I am confident as I renewed my courage to continue that I am doing the right thing and that I am in the right place here at Genealogy and Family History Community. I am well treated here with proper compassion. I appreciate that beyond words.
I have connected with other sources who appear sincere wanting to help find my way towards my goal. There are many stories to tell about my family tree. I am working on obtaining information about my "hopefully" sibling sister Alicia. I think she is supposed to be older than me. I always wanted a sister.
Unfortunately, those working the cycle of infidelity and deception never thought of