I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the phrase, “You bastard.” Or some other variation of curses sent in my direction. I push people away with my sarcasm and my attitude. I know I do.I don’t get hurt that way.
But the reality of it is I am a bastard by definition.
My mother hadn’t expected to bring children into the world. My father hadn’t cared whether or not he brought another child into the world – he was a prolific man in the bedroom. Still is, though after Nick there he got the accidents taken care of. Not that Nick was an accident like I was.
But there was a very large chance he wouldn’t have known about me any which way. I could have died. My mother and a handful of others were the only ones aware of my true parentage. I still don’t know the truth behind the reason why no one ever told Kai he was my father until I was 18. Or told me I was living under the nose of my father.
I have parent issues – both Mommy and Daddy issues. I have family issues. Hell, I have people issues on most days.
But usually, when people called me a bastard they weren’t referring to my parentage – as they don’t in most cases these days. But names, they don’t hurt nearly as much as a fist so I’ll take name calling any day. The old sing song “Sticks and stones may break bones but names will never hurt me.” is an adage to live by for me.