Blood of My Father

By S J King

Lies, secrecy and deceptions are the rule for this child, finding as she grew older, a twist of fate brought her the truth of her heritage and her death plot. Having seven children, and divorced, she had to handle it all alone. As a single parent and poor, the struggles were many and one guiding light saved her. There were dramatic psychic phenomena and glorious spiritual guidance. One son died in the military having to deal with death, forgery and slander. Through it all, spiritual guidance was her strength.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 27, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462810765

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It all started out on a normal everyday kind of day. My sister called, asking if I would do a favor for her and she would be in town in a couple of weeks to give me the details. Those weeks went past and Brenda called asking for me to meet her for lunch. We exchanged hugs and what was going on with our respective families. Brenda asked if I would do some research for her in her quest to find out who her father was. Brenda and I conversed about how long it has been that she has tried to find out who this man was. I didn’t really understand the scope of how deep in went into her self, never knowing her father. I listened while Brenda talked about a third man that was at gramma’s house way back then that could be her father. She gave me the name and that was my task to research everything I could find about this man for her.

Mom had been questioned and argued with for thirty plus years as to who was my sister’s real father. Mom would never tell anyone this truth. Sometimes mom would make cracks that it was the butcher or the mailman, just to irritate Brenda, and mom would laugh. I couldn’t relate to my sister’s agony because I knew who my father was. I did not understand Brenda’s deep need to know the truth. I also did not understand her sadness and grief at never knowing her own father. Our mom carried her secret to her deathbed who my sister’s father was. Mom also took with her another secret that has been waiting to pop up, to be reckoned with, as a seed develops in fertilizer.

Brenda felt that our Uncle Jack was her father and so did Uncle Jack’s children, our cousins. Uncle Jack died many years ago, so there was no option to ask him. There was that one other man that hung around gramma’s house Brenda was compelled to ask me to research.

To do this research, first of all, I had to find out the family stories about this guy that was hanging around. He was a friend of my grandpa and cousin Hubert Humphrey, the politician.

These three men were in a men’s lodge together, and into politics together, and just all around friends, so the stories go. No one knows to what extent grandpa was involved in these activities.

The third man was a district attorney and then the Attorney General of the State, and eventually the governor of the State. This meant this third man was influential and powerful. Maybe, dangerous.

I had put off starting the research because of selling one house and renting an apartment that was way too small. After one year of cramped living, my youngest daughter and I purchased another house. After we had settled in and less boxes sitting around, one early morning I was sitting in the family room with no thoughts. The Fruitless Mulberry tree in the back yard was giving off little puffs of pollen. I had never seen that happen before and was kind of amazed at it. In a relaxed state of mind, I realized it would be a good time to start doing my sister’s research of who could be her father. Two years had passed since she asked me to do this. I gathered all my questions and made a sheet of paper for each person I needed data on.

Brenda told me that our grandpa had two men that came to the house. One was grandpa’s cousin Hubert Humphrey, the politician. The third man was the District Attorney of the city.

They all were in the Mason’s together, and politics. Grandpa was mixing with the big boys.

Grandpa had moved out of the house and I don’t know what was up between grandpa and grandma. The family stories say grandma fell in love with grandpa’s brother Ralph, and grandma kicked grandpa out of the house. No one knows in what order this happened. We know eventually grandpa moved to Boise and ended up married again and had more children. Grandpa died when I was two years old

I needed to get pictures of Uncle Jack and the third man. I couldn’t remember what Uncle Jack looked like except his general appearance. The last time I saw him was when I was four and a half years old. He was not tall, and he had dark hair and light skin. He was an engineer, and built the little house in the back yard for gramma’s growing family.

Now we come to the third man, the man of power. I had no knowledge of the third man. When Brenda told me his name I had heard of the man. Brenda had me write this third man’s name in my tablet for future research. We had lunch and said our goodbye’s and that was that.

Brenda had given me a package and when I opened it, I did not realize the true meaning of the gift. She gave me a picture of three females, all with their backs to the viewer, gazing out at a beautiful lake, as if all were daydreaming. Brenda said it was her and our other sister and myself, being together. Later on I thought more on it.

My favorite thing to do is research. Research of all kinds of things. Never in the whole universe could I imagine what was going to unfold.

On the internet—typing in the third man’s name, not knowing what was going to pop up, I selected the first article. Up came a picture of the man along with the article. There was something very compelling right away about his face. Time did something weird, it stopped. I couldn’t grasp what I was feeling. I felt like a moth to a flame, what was that? I couldn’t stop reading everything about this man, and looking at all the pictures of him at various ages. I found that I looked like him, and my children looked just like him! And all the things about him were exactly like me. Or I was exactly like him! I kept researching and kept finding more likenesses. Also, there was a feeling of love coming from his features. Love that I remembered as a child when my father, whoever that was, sent me a red and blue plaid dress for my seventh birthday. I felt that same love then and again, seeing his face. It was a mixed up mind boggling situation. I was getting angry and more angry, realizing this man was my father. I felt like I had been shot in the head with what I’d found. Realizations were coming fast, plain and simple, I had been lied to by all of my family, all of my life about who my father was. They have all passed on and there is no one to question or to scream at over this injustice.

What I was reading about the third man was too familiar. My brain was trying to acknowledge that all his characteristics sounded like me, and this research was not supposed to be about me. I was angry and pissed off, driven to find more truth. I was truly driven. I was like a run away train, steam coming out the sides of my ears, puffing and building up a powerful anger. Anger like I had never known and would never be able to vent it all.

Every time I looked at another article and seeing his face, could feel a magnet pulling me his face, and it was getting stronger, and the realizations were becoming more clear as the tears were filling my eyes and running down my face, the tough nut that never cries! The first time I saw his face, grasping at every word, every sentence, everything the articles had to say about this man, and the implications shaking my awareness—shaking my soul, totally floored me. I felt like the air was being sucked out of me.

I knew down deep that the man on my birth certificate was not my father. I always knew it. Some little seed was inside me telling me I was not his. Meeting for the first time at thirteen years old, I knew then that something was not right. I did not look like him or any of his family. I didn’t think and reason like him, there was nothing. Now, what was I supposed to tell my sister?

I had to set my personal opinions aside of what I thought I knew, to do this most personal research. I read stacks of books from the library, and tons of articles on the internet. The research went on for over one year. I found pictures of this third man at various ages that my children look exactly like. I found a picture of him at eleven years old that looks exactly like my oldest son. And the picture of this third man giving his governor’s acceptance speech, smiling; I look like him at the same age, and my daughter Christine looks exactly like him. There is a picture of this third man playing handball that looks exactly like my son Ron, and my ex-husband. This was getting scary. There were so many similarities that made me able to acknowledge verbally, that I know he is my real father. I knew it the first time I saw his face on the internet! I still need to get a DNA test to prove it legally. Remember, I was not looking for me.

It was time to start researching all of the war stories of Terry, the man listed as my father on my birth certificate. I wanted to know where he really was when he wasn’t with my mother. Since Terry liked talking about the war made it easy to question him. My step-mom died three years ago and now he called more than he ever did. I liked stories of World War Two so it was easy for us to talk about what he did and where he was, leading up to Pearl Harbor, and after. It was the ‘after’ that I was looking for. I needed to find where he was in January 1942. He let me believe all these years that after the Pearl Harbor attack he came back to the States. That is not what happened. Talking seriously about Pearl Harbor and what he was doing, Terry said he was on the U.S.S. Craven battling the Japanese, and it was a serious battle. His battleship was an escort of the U.S.S. Enterprise. He said It went on for a long time." In actuality, it was the rest of December through February 1942. That was his ‘long time.’

In tracking Naval records from the main library and on the internet, every article said the same thing—The ship Terry was on did not come back to the States until the end February of 1942. The time frame was too late for Terry to be my father. He said I didn’t see your mom right away when I got back. I was part of the volunteer group that was repairing The U.S.S. Shaw that had come back the same time we did. The Shaw had been blown in half at Pearl and we were going to repair it, docked at Mare Island. I checked this story and found the facts of the Shaw was being repaired by a volunteer group of sailors at Mare Island. This included Terry.

I wanted to find out when Terry and my mother got married? Marriage has nothing to do with pregnancy but it was part of collecting data. I sent for a recorded copy of their marriage certificate from Reno, Nevada, that Terry and Mom were married on August 14th, 1942. I was born over two months later. This fact did not prove anything substantial other than the fact that everything my mother and Terry told me, or let me believe, was a lie. And, there is another issue about this lie. When I was a teen you should have heard their lies on forbidden sex.

Terry was in the Battle of Santa Cruz, on the U.S.S. Shaw the night I was born. He let me believe that he was all excited about ‘his’ baby girl being born while a great battle was going on, and could hardly wait to get home to see mom and me. I know from having my own children how exciting it was, so I assumed that he was that kind of excited. The truth was that he knew I was not his. That changed the story. I have no way of knowing what he thought and how he felt when I was born. For sure he wasn’t going to tell any truths.

The only way to prove what I knew to be true was to get Terry’s DNA sample. Terry came out to our house in the fall, 2006, parked his trailer and stayed just long enough for me to hear more war stories and to plan on how to get his DNA sample. I had been researching DNA testing on the internet, and that we could find out our nationality by doing this test. I presented the data from the internet to Terry with the intention of getting the sample. Terry said my father told me we were Irish, French and American Indian. When he said that, I was really angry inside because that is what my mother said that I was.

In doing all this research, I found out from my sister that our family is all Norwegian. I was more angry, again, because I never knew my true heritage until starting this research. It was important to keep from me that I was Norwegian. I wonder why? I’ll lead you there.

Terry agreed to let me get his cheek swab, interested in the new technology. He wanted to know what he was. I nervously took the swab, went directly into the house and filled out the paperwork, my hands were shaking, wrote the check and got it in that day’s mail. I did Thank God for helping me in this matter. Only God knew how urgent this was to me.

I knew the results was going to be that Terry was not my father, and that was what the test proved. Sixty plus years of wondering about who I was now had an answer. I knew who I was and was not. I was convinced Terry was not my father and was as sure in my heart and soul who was my real father. Dealing with all these issues made me get kind of testy, and irritated, and angry. I had a whole life of living my family’s lies. I wanted to scream my guts out.

My mother never told me that our family was Norwegian. She actually lied to me telling me that I was the same heritage as Terry, the man on my birth certificate, the man that was the cover-up of