More On My Bad Experiences.

Just to tell the full story of my Uncle Al and the issue of people thinking he was a good father and who belonged locked away, me or him. It all started one time around the time my mother died, probably the late 90s. I was talking on the phone with his wife, my Aunt Grace. And I just casually, and totally harmlessly, let it slip that Al grew up in a mental hospital because he was mentally ill and borderline disabled. And she got angry and went into a tirade. Oh, he is not! She screamed. None of that is true! Which is odd, I was always told it was, although I didn't know the details as I said. And then she put him on and said tell him, tell him why it's not true. And Al didn't have much to say. And then the next Sunday she was still irate. He is not below normal in intelligence, he is above! Which I thought at the time is possible, as I said I wasn't sure. And he is not abnormal psychologically! He is above normal psychologically! So at this point I knew he obviously put her up to saying all of that. And then she went off on this strange tangent. But if he was any of those things, if being the word, if. It was probably due to the fact he had his mastoid bones removed as a baby. But he is not! He is not! She went on. Then the next Sunday we were sitting at the table. And he started prattling on, talking to her quietly obviously about some conversation they had in private. But I was a good father, he said softly. I was, urging her on. And she was disgusted at this point, telling him we all know what kind of a father you were. I wasn't sure like I said if he really believed that, because he sounded like he did. But she assured me, no he doesn't really think that. He knows. And then eventually at the same restaurant, his son showed up, and humiliated him in public. Talking about how he was abnormal and obviously mentally ill, if that was an issue for him. And then going into detail of the horrible abuse he did and the horrible things he did to him as a baby and a child. With some of the customers in the restaurant looking on in horror. (Like I already said, public humiliation is a bad idea for patient compliance. Not only is it a breach of confidentiality. But it endangers their safety sometimes, like with the things his son was saying there about him. And plus sometimes the person who does it may not have their information right or complete yet.) He looked on unconcerned and mildly annoyed. Finally he walked back to the car to sit where his son followed him, challenging him to fight by now. I could tell it was to shut him up. And I even told our probate lawyer about it who said it was a good thing. (And who seemed to know something about it, which was odd.) And Al kept quiet for a week. Though the next week he already had this confident smile on his face and his nose up in the air, like he often did at times. Then the following week he was back to his old tricks. But by now no one was trying to stop him. So I let it slip. He really was disgusting human being. Not only disgusting for not caring he did that, if it was because he was genuinely sick, but disgusting for taking to that new level. He didn't seem to care again, but only did more and more. Now to defy me too obviously. Then after my stay at Sinai-Grace hospital, where I told them my irrational fears led to my suicide attempt. I explained to them everything and they seemed to understand. But that bizarre new chapter in my life began, starting with that homophobic staff member in their psychiatric ward. Telling me very soon I'd be in prison. By whatever means and where I'd be abused too, they said. And Al's situation changed radically. Now his son supported him and said he adored him now. Like I said, his master plan was to shake hands. He rarely shook hands due to his fear of germs, and if he did never more than that. But he thought if people saw his adopted son to honor to him that way it would resolve everything. All the years of abuse would be solved that way he reasoned. But at first his son wouldn't go along. But not after 2004. He shook hands with him repeatedly. Sometimes repeatedly at the same time. And then he'd grin and look to see if I saw. Like at a Wendy's once. And his son told me he adored him and worshipped him now. Though he told me, privately at least, that he agreed he was a horrible father. But he was his father now, he claimed. Having claimed up till then he wasn't even that. And then he had to have a heart-to-heart with me for his AA. And he told me in the car outside our house again, that he worshipped Al and adored him. He was wonderful, though sick and misunderstood he told me. He only hurt because he was hurt, he said. It's how that kind of thing always happens. And then like I said, Al was made part of that process too. Telling me that he thought I belonged in prison. To be abused, like I wanted for him. For forcing him to go out with me Sundays, for using the word explicitly once and asking to go to 7-11. I am not exaggerating. And like I wanted for him, he added once or twice or implied. And like I said, Al thought I should lose my car too. Again I still don't know who told him about that. But he made it clear, it seemed to him to just be a sensible precaution.