Zero to Seventeen

I held a 1953 high school class ring in my hand. 1953? What? It should be 1952. My life changed forever when I saw the year on that ring. I had been lied to for all ten years of my life. A sinking feeling grew in my stomach that was sucking my heart down into a pit. Parents lie? Yes, I was lied to over and over. I felt broken inside; a ten year old gullible fool sitting in the attic.

I believed Mom and Dad both graduated from high school in January 1952 and were married in May ’52. The truth is my parents graduated from high school in January ‘53, married in May ’53, and I was born in July 1953. They married eleven weeks before I was born not one year and eleven weeks: just eleven weeks. That’s the truth. That’s not what I had been told.

It took a split second to realize I was related to a bunch of frauds. Did they think I would never find out?

Now what should I do? Do I climb down from the attic and go on about my happy-go-lucky life as if I never saw the contents of Dad’s box? Do I confront my parents and ask about the ring? “Hey, Mom, Dad what’s up with the ‘53 class ring and diploma?” I wasn’t deliberately looking through attic boxes. I bumped a box that rattled when it fell. I investigated. And then Mom was at the attic door.