The Bestest Boy Names Himself.

It’s coming up on the seven year anniversary of Mooshum’s Gotcha Day and let me tell you, I am shocked.

When we adopted Mooshy Mush he was 10 years old. Never in my life did I imagine this guy would live to be seventeen. At the start of every Summer I say to someone ” I don’t think he’ll last the season” or ” This will be his last Summer with us” and every Autumn he surprises the hell out of me by living life as he always has. Even his Vet is a bit stunned by it all and says he’s doing amazingly well, all things considered.

But Mooshy is 17, and his body is starting to wind itself down. He’s got congestive heart disease and the symptoms seem to be escalating, despite his medications. According to the studies I’ve read, he’s got somewhere between 6 and 18 months left to live. Symptom wise I’m going with 6 months…experience wise…18 🙂 One can hope, so long as he’s got a decent quality of life of course.

Time will tell. In the meantime won’t you indulge me in a series about The Bestest Boy?

10 years young.

We adopted Mooshum through SCARS only he wasn’t Mooshum quite yet, they were calling him Nooshum.

Nooshum came from a community in the eastern part of the province and lived the first ten years of his life roaming free, chasing away coyotes, unneutered and living his best life, ha ha. As he grew older, his muzzle wrote checks that his rump couldn’t cash and the other community dogs ganged up on him and life became not so safe for the old boy. Nooshum’s owner was really worried the other dogs would kill him the next time so when the Alberta Spay & Neuter Task Force (Now known as the Canadian Animal Task Force) came into the community, his guardians asked for Nooshum be rehomed to save his life. That beautiful, selfless act of love enabled us to become Nooshum’s jail retirement home.

So how did Nooshum become Mooshum? Well, being smarter and quicker than me, he told me so himself.

When we adopted him we were calling him by the name he came to us with but it was obvious right away that Nooshum meant nothing to him. I’d call him and and get zero response. I knew he wasn’t deaf (yet) because he sure heard the food bag well enough, but his name just wasn’t eliciting a response. Was I saying it wrong? Probably. I figured Nooshum was a Cree – Nehiyawak- word but for what? My internet searches turned up no answer but my brain wouldn’t let it go. I knew the Nehiyawak word for grandfather was *Mooshum…M and N kind of look the same if scribbled down, they’re also right next to each other on a computer keyboard. Maybe his name was Mooshum?…It would make sense. I called my 18 year old cat Grandfather as an honorific too…hmmm.

With that theory in mind, I picked my moment and put thought into action ” Mooshum!” I called out to him as he was sleeping at the end of the hall.


That dog’s head shot up like a rocket! He cocked it swiftly from side to side and jumped up on his feet, bouncing up and down on all four paws as if to say ” My name! My name! You know my name!” and that was the end of that! Who was I to argue with a reaction like that? He’s been Mooshum ever since and I think obviously he was Mooshum before. Once we had his real name, he really blossomed with us. Opening up, settling in and trusting us more and more from that point on. He had a lot to get used to and I think it was challenging for him in the beginning. He did adapt eventually but it took about six months, longer than any other dog I’ve ever adopted. You wouldn’t know it now. ❤

Coming soon : The Bestest Boy is also the Baddest Boy.

*Mooshum is incorrect but also not, according to this article I found HERE. Have a look if you’re into language and accuracy like I am ❤

Just The Recipe: Red Hot Toddy

Red Hot Toddy


Red Zinger Tea & Toddy.

Just the recipe HERE

The girlchild and I were reminiscing about our favourite tea the other day.

Red Zinger.

It was a funky blend of sticks and leaves but the main ingredient was hibiscus. OOOOOH we love us some hibiscus! The tea was sweet without needing sugar, good hot AND cold, and very, very red tasting. (If you know, you know) One used to be able to get it a Superstore, they had their own brand (this should have been my first clue! ) but I haven’t seen it years and years. Inspired by our conversation, I hit up the old Google and what I found made me laugh and laugh and laugh.

Superstore doesn’t make it anymore but fricking Celestial Seasonings sure does! This whole time I was looking for the no name brand when I could have had the original!

This brain…I tell ya…

Making up for lost time, I bought a case!

It was delicious, exactly as I remembered. I’m grateful because I have a lot of it, ha ha.

I’m thinking it would make an excellent Red Hot Toddy. Oh! With my favourite bourbon!

Let’s give that a go:

Red Zinger Hot Toddy

  • Mug of Celestial Seasonings Red Zinger Tea
  • Honey, to taste.
  • Red Stag Black Cherry Bourbon by Jim Beam, to taste. I used half an ounce because it was 10 am when I worked this up, heh. Half an ounce is probably plenty anyway.
  • Squeeze of lemon.

Stir, stir. Sip. Sip.

The verdict: Gooooooood! Dangerously good, like candy. I’ve found hot toddies to be a great comfort when I’m ill but they always taste so strong and medicinal. This is not like that at all and I am here for it!

Do you have a favourite tea? Tell me all about it!

You can find this tea online at a variety of sources, including here >Red Zinger Tea<

Cheers and thanks for reading!

F*cked Up Book Club For One – A Bloodstained Hammer.

This is a whole thing.

There’s a book!

A Bloodstained Hammer was written by Allison Townsend and her friend, Brian Seifrit.

Allison Townsend is the daughter of Mr. Townsend and his second wife.

His second wife was the nanny he hired to care for his two boys after my father murdered their mum and sister.

The book is a fictionalized retelling of the murder with facts interspersed throughout thanks to court documents, according to one article I read.

Against good advice and all sense, I bought it 45 seconds after learning it existed:

Yep! I did!

I regret…being born. Ha! Only sometimes.

Ok, joking aside, I regret nothing. It wasn’t so bad and I’m glad I was brave. I learned some things.

It’s definitely a strange thing to hold a book like that in one’s hands. I have no other experiences to compare it to and nobody else that I know has been through this. There is no how to guide for this side of murder.

I think it would be highly inappropriate for this murderer’s daughter to actually review the book like I normally would but I’m cool with sharing my feelings and experience as I read it. Perhaps one day this post will help someone else. Because this? This is a bizarre experience!

Onward we go:

Right away I was disappointed the book is fiction. A true crime account would have been a gift. Nobody owes me anything though. I know that. I’m a person who craves accuracy and clarity. Wanting to know all the details is also a trauma response. All “me problems” . I did find it fairly easy to pick out details that felt like truths buuuuut I can’t know for sure and that’s frustrating. I sure do appreciate the elements gleaned from the court documents because even though this is a work of fiction, I feel closer to something that feels like…settled.

I had a huge physical response to the book. It came into my house and my heart went off! I started unconsciously holding my breath and pacing, ha ha. My body was screaming “DANGER!” at me. I’d pick the book up. I’d put the book down. Again and again and again! I couldn’t stand for it to be in my hands and yet I couldn’t stop touching it! Finally, I just opened to a page and started reading, in dribs and drabs until my heart rate regulated and I was taking normal breaths. I was not expecting all that nonsense!

Once I got the lay of the land so to speak and became comfortable with the authors’ voice, reading it was 🔥”fine”🔥. I knew who it was about but the dialogue was so unlike my father that it was easy to feel like I was reading about someone else even though I knew full well I wasn’t.

I read it in one night. Once I started I couldn’t stop! I was horror bound to the words within. I couldn’t have set the book down if I tried. I’m probably going to have to read it again just to absorb it fully because I just zoomed straight through it!

The authors and I agree: My father was NOT “crazy” and he definitely got away with murder x2. 100% . That was one of my first thoughts when I found out back in March. I’ve been invalidated on this subject before and so I’m pretty fiercely defensive of my stance on this fact. I will die on this fucking hill. My father knew exactly what he was doing when he raped and murdered Linda and Eyvon and he knew exactly how to manipulate people into feeling sorry for him and thinking he was mentally ill. Ask me how I know.🙄

In the end, I had some creepy and disturbing realizations about my father and my childhood 😬 Before reading this book I would have said that nothing other than the abuse I knew about had happened to me growing up. Now, I think something different.

I have all the symptoms of a person with repressed trauma. Experienced or witnessed. I don’t know. But my body does. And this is why I regret nothing.

A Bloodstained Hammer helped me finally formulate a million tiny pieces into a single point, with one sentence.

Overall, reading a book about one’s rapist/murderer father’s crime wasn’t as horrible as one might expect. I can’t say it was a pleasant thing to do but it didn’t hurt me to read it. Quite the opposite. It helped and I’m grateful it was written.

If you want to read it too it’s available from many sources online including here.

Thanks for reading about my fucked up book club for one. I appreciate the company! 💚

The Salad And The Spice

It’s Salad Season, woot woot! Well it was when I wrote this six months ago. Oooops!

I bring you an overly dramatic account of my dinner salad fuck up. Enjoy! 🤓

The recipe for said salad called for Harrisa Paste. I had Harrisa Powder. One is surely the same as the other, right?

Ha! Nooooooo.

I used the same amount of powder as the called for paste and slathered the whole mess on there. ( There being a steak) Then I made my second mistake and cooked our steak in my cast iron pan.

Yeah…We don’t have a stove vent- because, reasons -and the spicy smoke choked us out of our own house!  We were crying and coughing and laughing our asses off because the neighbors were looking at weird and the whole thing was just ridiculous!

 Is this what it feels like to be pepper sprayed? Because I think we got pepper sprayed!

Naturally after all that I wasn’t too keen on eating the damn thing but I won’t waste meat soooo, down the hatch it had to go.😬

I think I gave myself an ulcer. It burned aaaallll the way down!

It sure looked pretty though:

I’d recommend the recipe. Here’s the LINK if you want to make it too. May I just suggest though that you use the paste?!

Murder & Rape. My Father’s Crime.

Today’s the day. 😳

While it’s been four months and twelve days since I learned my father was a vicious murderer and rapist, it’s been sixty two years to the day, since he committed his crime.

At the time of The Knowing, my brain came up with a list of very important tasks to complete. This post is the first of those tasks:

Tell the story. Reveal all. Refuse to be a part of the cover up.

Its not my shame- I know this in my heart! – and yet I feel strongly compelled to do something. Anything, to take a nick out of the wrong. I cannot abide injustice. So. Let me tell you about my father’s crime.

In March of 1959, my father, born Richard Alexander Huculak -You can Google him – was hired on at a farm outside of Trail, BC. He was 25 years old at the time and drifting.

It’s easy for me to see why Mr. Andrew Townsend hired him. Young, strong and experienced he would have made a capable farmhand. He was a quiet person too, the kind of guy who settled into the background. I know from my own experiences that he presented as gentle. Trustworthy. A person who didn’t give much of themselves away yet seemed placid and decent. Not a threat. Mr. Townsend observed him much the same, according to one article.

In addition to running his farm, Mr. Townsend worked nights with a large employer in town. He left for work on the evening of July 29, 1959  leaving his family, wife Violet ( known as Evonne) and three children (two boys and a girl, Linda) at home. In addition to their own kids, the Townsends had a guest that evening. Another child, just a toddler at the time. The house must have felt lively with all those kids.

That same evening my dad, (known then as Dick ), headed into town with a friend and his wife for some drinks.

The party eventually returned to the friend’s house, with a case of beer and another case they purchased from a taxi driver. Later that evening the friend drove Dick- an entirely appropriate name all things considered- back to the Townsend farm.

As July 29 rolled over into July 30, my dad raped Linda Townsend, 8 years old. (Its unknown whether he raped Evonne too, the coroner wasn’t able to find any evidence but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. ) Then, my father picked up a two lb. ball peen hammer and murdered Linda and her mum, Evonne with multiple blows to their heads, while the little neighbor child lay in a crib in the same fucking room.

My dad hid the hammer behind the bed frame of the bed where Linda lay in her mother’s outstretched arm, cleaned the blood off himself, changed clothes, broke into the kid’s piggy banks, went through Evonne’s purse, stealing her money and her car keys too.

He stole the family car, (stopping somewhere along the way to purchase two bottles of Aspirin) and drove across the Nelson toll bridge, before taking the Kootenay Lake ferry to Kootenay Bay. Eventually he abandoned the car in a patch of bushes and started hitchhiking towards Calgary, AB.

As this is all going on, the Townsend kids were waking up to start their day. Hungry and wondering where their mother was they headed for their parent’s bedroom. It was clear right away that something was wrong. The oldest boy-who was only around 5 years old- lifted the littlest child out of the crib and the three of them walked a fair ways to a gas station for help. They brought a neighbor back to the farmhouse and of course that person immediately called the police.

The man hunt for my father was on.

It was one of the biggest man hunts in the area’s history. (Not a point a pride, definitely an event you don’t expect to have attached to your father )

Eventually, Dick was spotted by police officers cruising the highways for him and arrested without incident. Unbeknownst to the officers at the time, immediately prior to his arrest, Dick had swallowed both bottles of the Aspirin he’d picked up earlier and promptly lost consciousness in the back of the patrol car. He was taken to the hospital in neighboring Nelson, where his stomach was pumped. Mr. Townsend, who had been notified by then, was called upon to identify my dad and was able to correctly do so. Once my dad was stable he was released and taken to Castlegar jail where he was held under heavy guard to await trial.

Ooof. 😢

The Townsend family, their friends and neighbors were left to live with the loss and trauma my father inflicted on them while he sat alive in jail, cooking up Act 2.

And what an act it was! I’m the first direct byproduct of that. Conceived and born while my dad was still under the care of the institution he was placed in.

I’m alive today because my father got away with murder. I’m alive today because my mother thought that particular man would be an appropriate and suitable spouse and parent.

Spoiler alert! He wasn’t. Nor was she for that matter, but they were absolutely perfect for each other.

Act Two to follow…

Adventuring to Crescent Falls, AB

Want to go on an adventure? We’re going to Crescent Falls!

Crescent Falls is a series of two waterfalls on the Bighorn River in west central Alberta, about 22 Km west of Nordegg.

Inspired by a strong need to get the hell out of Edmonton, and our daughter’s recent trip to the same area, the Hubs and I hit the road on Saturday and ended up there.

The drive is beautiful once you get off the QE2 and start heading west. The prairie landscape always does something magical to me. I open right up and become air.

It’s the rolling hills and soft grasses. The sunshiny canola fields against the brightest blue sky. All that space…nirvana. When the landscape changes to mountain peaks and timber I can barely stand it. Instant tears. Before you know it, I’m making plans to squat in a canvass tent by a river FOREVER!

The falls are down a long highway, then off onto a gravel road. Up, up, up into the trees and finally we’re here.

There is a trail to walk down to the falls but we got our wires crossed, read the info wrong and ended up walking down a gravel road instead. If you go, don’t be dumb, Take the trail. It’s to the right of the parking lot. It’s the better option!

The falls are pretty. Apparently open year round too! I’m coming back for Autumn, most definitely.

There were trails everywhere and in retrospect we should have hiked them if not for any other reason than to get better photos for you guys BUT I was distracted by something else and quickly lost interest.


I spent the next hour in the flow of river and mind, admiring shiny things and enjoying the feel of cool water.

The clouds started rolling in mean and dirty so we cut our visit shorter than I would have liked and hiked up the long ass hill back to the truck. (Seriously, take the trail! ) making friends with this cutie along the way:

Back in the hamlet of Nordegg we ended up a cute little store –Beehive Artisans Market which sits in the same complex and The Miner’s café and the Shell gas station.

OH my word! What a great shop! Clever and eclectic, chock full of interesting local art and products. Produce too. I’m still kicking myself for not buying a painting of the mountains that stole my heart but I did get some yummy stuff. ( I am all about yummy stuff)

I have a honey fetish it would seem as these two different kinds bring my home collection up to four. Who needs 4 tubs of honey? I do apparently. And I regret nothing! Besides, honey literally lasts forever.

The Gull Lake honey is raw, and wildflower in variety. It tastes smooth and the colour is amazing. I like my honey on ice cream! ( I also eat it straight off a spoon without shame) The Chai honey comes from The Chai Wallahs and is divine! So flavourful and spicy! The ginger comes through strong, exactly how I like my chai. I’m looking forward to adding this to tea. Check them out, they have an online shop.

We also picked up some Sylvan Star Cheese. which is always tasty. I’m looking forward to poutine, nom nom nom.

The drive home was uneventful which is good, I guess but I was really hoping to see a storm over the prairie. The thunderstorm watch didn’t evolve into anything worthwhile so BOOOOOO!

In the end, It was a long day but not overly so. We left the the city at 8am, and were home by 6 pm ish. There are so many other inviting places to explore in the area and I know I say this about every new spot I come across but this one is my favourite.

Thanks for coming along!

Acceptance-Kind Of.

Well, I’ve evolved to the making jokes stage of healing so maybe I can write about this mess again!

This mess being THIS POST HERE if you missed it.

It’s been a challenging few months! Trauma, trauma everywhere! I’ve tried to come back and start writing again but my brain just wouldn’t let me put anything decent down. I was blocked at every turn. I kept running into this quote:

It’s SO true! It’s all feelings and emotions and trying to mash that into a story for here has been nigh but impossible. Also, I don’t have hindsight. I’m still living this. BUT so many other things have happened that I can write about. Good things. Fabulous things. Healing things. And I shall, starting with this post now 🙂

Acceptance. My Hubs says my jokes means that I’ve accepted IT.

At first I readily agreed. The crime my dad committed was a real thing that truly happened. I’ve got all the proof ( including secondary real live human confirmation from 3 other people!) He did that.

But I don’t accept it…ya know? Acceptance as in “Willingness to tolerate a difficult or unpleasant situation” I’m still mad about it. I’ll probably die mad about it too. That’s OK. I’m fine with that. The day I readily accept the death of an 8 year old and her mum is the day I lose my humanity. I don’t know how I could ever tolerate such a thing. ( I feel like scrubbing out my brain though, ugh!)

I do know that I’m doing good now. I’m not 100% but I’m good. My life is FANTASTIC and I’m busy unpacking things and hopefully healing and growing and “levelling up”. My life is so much more than discovering my dad was what he was. My life is so much more than that family secret. It keeps rolling forward, leading me to better and better things.

I’m going to keep writing about that horrible discovery here, as my brain lets me and I’m going to keep writing about the genealogy I’m still doing too. I found my grandparents! I’ve been able to add their real names to that side of my tree! I’ve connected with relatives. The most lovely humans a person could ever hope to meet. ❤ I feel legitimate and rooted in something honorable and important.

Honestly, I also feel extremely self satisfied. Those two assholes thought they could hide what he did. From their family, their friends, their children and their community. And then I came along, ha! They created their worst nightmare. I feel like a little kid when I say this but I don’t care: I’m going to tell EVERYBODY. The secret stops with me.

Part Two: I Never Seriously Saw That One Coming.

You can find Part One: HERE

Trigger Warning for mention of violence.

I don’t really know where to start. What I’m about to tell you is just so awful. I’ve had almost three weeks to live with  this information and while I’ve managed to keep the horror of it all down to a dull roar, the family secret I discovered is not something one gets used to.

My brain keeps shouting “NO!” at me and every time I reach into the knotted mess to find a thread, I find nothing but more knots.

I WANT to tell this story. This is one dark secret that needs to be brought into the light, so let me start with salad?

My last meal before the knowing was the most delicious salad. It was chock full of greens, beets, goat cheese and pumpkin seeds. It also had oranges, fresh and dried and the most delicious lemony dressing. It was fresh and cheery! The Hubs and I had baked up a couple of chicken breasts and this meal was the perfect ending to a pretty great day. I ate my salad curled up on my couch, enjoying the Springtime sun shining through my window. I basked in it’s gentle warmth and felt…damn good. Content with my lot.  I still had the taste of that salad on my tongue when I opened up my laptop, logged into my ancestry account and typed in my father’s name.

Now that I had his real name, I figured I’d finally get some information about that side of my family! I was excited! I still had to deal with why my parents changed our last name and why they lied about it but, my main focus had always been finding my Metis roots so the lying nonsense could wait.

Along with my father’s name I typed his birth date and birthplace, an obscure little hamlet in northern Alberta. Lots of possibilities came up and I checked each one out diligently coming up with a maybe in one person with the same last name, living in another hamlet near my father’s hometown. Could be a relative!

Nothing in birth records…nothing in death…oh! Maybe a marriage? I knew he’d been married before and the union had been annulled. I added the information to my file and continued on, coming upon a news clipping. I almost didn’t click the link because sometimes the news clippings are on another site that requires further payment. Maybe the secret played on my mind or maybe it was my intuition because I took a chance on that link and found full access to an old newspaper page!

Woot Woot! My lucky day.

I scrolled to the highlighted section and my heart thudded to a stop in my chest.

“Dangerous Escapee Recaptured” the headline stated.

My eyes alit on the five words highlighted so helpfully:

My father’s first name. My father’s middle name. My father’s last name. Murder. The obscure hamlet where my father was born.

I knew.

I felt it in my body as my stomach clenched.

The truth.

I jumped up and thrust my laptop at my Hubs whilst a long scream? moan? keening? of disgust escaped me.

“What!? What?!” he demanded, most startled by the noise I was making and my sudden pacing and hand wringing.

Bless his sweet heart to be so concerned about me instead of my OBVIOUS REQUEST TO READ WHAT I COULDN’T SPEAK ALOUD.

“Read it!!” I managed to force out between my clenched teeth.

“Oh!” I heard him say next. Then again with solemn understanding “Ooooh”

He continued on with the details and this is what I heard ” Mental hospital escapee. Implicated in double murder eight years ago. Extremely dangerous. Not guilty by reason of insanity. A mother. Her child. Beaten to death in their beds. “

Looks like I solved the name change mystery!

Disgust and outrage hit me first. Then realization after realization flooded in. ” I left my children with him!” My husband would later chuckle kindly at me about this and tell me ” YOU were left with him!” I went through every emotion and went off, in every direction. Words and feelings pouring out of me until thankfully, blissfully, the shock gently took over and I became numb.

I messaged both my kids and right away my daughter started researching. My Hubs did too and within minutes, MINUTES, they found me some more information. Including all my father’s court documents. Right there on the front page of The Google.

My man, my wonderful man found the final proof that evening: Court papers with my father’s real last name (mine too!) and the new one. The name I grew up under. Ooof.

There was one last surprise left for me to discover and this is the one that absolutely broke me. I had been emotional and teary yes, but this new fact had me sobbing and spitting with rage…

My father had raped the little girl too.

Well. You Don’t Need A DNA Test Surprise…

to destroy your peace of mind!

Buckle up. I’m about to tell you a little story called ” I Never Seriously Saw This One Coming” in two parts.

PART ONE A: The Backstory.

Once upon a time, there was a woman named ELLLE ( It’s Meeeeee) who’d grown up with two toxic people.

I am totes adorbs.

The toxicity and abuse was a mixture of every day “soft” cruelty and major traumatic events. There was an under current of fear, unease and general ick in the day to day and Ellle made a promise to herself to detach herself from her parents as soon as she could. Ellle had a beautiful Baby in her late teens and thought to herself ” Aha! This is my ticket away from these awful people!”

Beautiful Boy,

But Ellle’s mother fell in love with the Boy, and turned on the charm. It was a LOVE BOMBING and because Ellle was so young and needed support, because she’d grown up in such a fucked up environment ,she thought maybe she’d just imagined the years of abuse and trauma. She’d just discovered that parenting was really hard and she’d already made mistakes. She’d want to be forgiven for her mistakes so she forgave her parents for their mistakes and life was pretty good. Ellle’s mother was busy being enamored with the BABY and Ellle’s father having grown old and seemingly feeble, lived his life in a chair, filing metal things and plotting his own escape.

Things were good for a number of years until the new on the Baby wore off. Soon, Ellle’s mother was back to her old tricks but this time, with the help of a wise friend, Ellle saw these tricks for what they were. She started to set boundaries and when a boundary was crossed, Ellle went No Contact and lost her entire family in the fall out. Ellle’s mother was reeeeally good at playing the victim and play it she did! She retaliated by stalking Ellle, trying to cause trouble with the school district and sending her letters through a LAWYER, threatening to sue her for visits with her grandchildren.

Ellle held firm and eventually the woman who birthed her gave up and left her alone.

It’s been about 17 years and Ellle regrets nothing. It was the right choice ❤

Part One B: The FIRST Big Surprise

Alright. You remember that I was waiting for some papers from the government? They came!

My dad’s death certificate arrived first, which pleased me greatly! Now I can obtain his birth documents and catch a lead toward the rest of my ancestors. I’ve searched and searched with the names my parents gave me but haven’t been able to come up with a damn thing, so I was thinking I heard wrong. Maybe.

Days later the photocopy of my birth registration arrived. This is the official, registered photocopy of the form my parent filled out when I was born.

I was expecting to see one of four names: 1. The last name I grew up under. (The one I suspected was borrowed from my mother’s family.) 2. Sutherland. The name both my parents told me was my dad’s step father’s name that he’d taken as a child. 3. Sinclair. My dad’s mother’s maiden name. 4. Gauthier. My dad’s biological father’s last name.

Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Can you guess what name was on my birth registration?


I was born under an entirely different last name.


It’s a name so out of left field, that when I saw it, I shrieked. I’ve neeeeeever heard it! It was never mentioned in my household and it was NEVER brought up when I asked my parents about our people. Never. Ever. Ever.

I was stunned. And then I got curious. So I went searching with these question in mind:

Who the hell am I? What else is a lie?! Why lie in the first place? What are they hiding?

Well. I found out. Oh my, did I ever find out!

And you will too, in Part Two, coming up shortly.