Family Secrets

An acknowledged Facebook addict, I was surprised at an email I received late yesterday from a relative. My mother’s two youngest sisters are my favorite aunts, and the elder, whom we’ll call Auntie N, sent me the following message: “I will be blocking YOU (caps hers) from my Facebook account as I do not want my identity known.”

Apparently, this was the result of her being tagged in a first communion photo on my page. I phoned her right up, and assuming a Florida-Evans-when-James-died wail, I began to beg forgiveness.

“Why? Oh why? What did I deserve to do to be blocked? Whyeeeeeeyyyyy? Damn, damn, damn!”

After first asking, “Who the hell is this?” she explained, “It’s nothing personal. I just can’t have my identity compromised.”

WTH? Long tired of my family’s penchant for secrecy, I just hauled off and spoke my mind.

“OK, this is getting silly. I am really tired of this family’s clandestine, cloak and dagger way of doing every damned thing. What the hell? We’re not exiled royalty. We don’t have a damned thing but each other. Why do we always act like everything is a doggone state secret? What’s with all this acting like we’re in the CIA?”

Silence.

“I guess, “ she said softly, “you finally figured it out.”

I let that sink in before asking, “Figured what out?”

“We figured, bright as you were supposed to be, you’d have guessed by this time. I guess maybe there was alcohol in your blood serum at birth, after all.”

“Whooaaaa…Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You…us…them???”

Silence.

“Everybody?”

“Everybody important.”

I let that sink in for a minute. We’re through the looking glass, people…

“What about Auntie D?” Her baby sister.

“She’s mellowed out over the last few years, but yeah. She was a covert specialist. Smile in your face, access secret files and ruin you behind your back. People underestimated her because she’s so bubbly.”

Bubbly? Since when?“My mother?”

“Master trainer. She ran one agency for a while.”

“My father?”

“He used to run the opposing agency. Picture Mr. & Mrs. Smith’s Bosses Get Married. Now, he’s just the paymaster. He leaves stacks of cash in safe deposit boxes. Real stickler for receipts.”

This can’t be. Somehow, though, my life up to now is starting to make sense.

“What about Cousin K-1, away at college?”

“Have you actually seen him there?”

“No. Whenever I wanna visit, he’s gone.”

“With good reason. Advanced training course at Langley. He’s going to be a foreign operative. Do 007 type stuff. He’s got the attitude for it. Plus, women love him, so he makes a good covert op. That girl he’s dating is with Russian Intelligence. She thinks we don’t know…”

“Cousin D?”

“Do you really think he’s a dean at a damn charter school? He hates schools. No, his job…well, this is a bit touchy…”

“What?”

“His job has been to watch out for you. Once it was realized you were a tad slower than we initially hoped for, it was decided you needed a minder.”

“Oh, OK. Wait! He’s ten years younger than I am!”

“Again, once we realized you weren’t on the swiftest train out the station…He doesn’t particularly care for the duty, but he does as he’s told ‘til something better comes along.”

“Cousin K-2?”

“Assassin of the highest order. We actually have to thank you for that. Became obsessed with death when you and her brother used to lynch her Barbie dolls.”

I can buy that. K-2 always was hard on small animals. I sat on that one for a while. Suddenly, I understood why we aren’t always at the reunions, why the secrets, why everything for us took place primarily within four walls. I had to know. I had to chance it.

“Grandad?”

“He’s really not gone. Still with us. We used a body double. That’s why there was so much hush about insurance payouts. He’s fine, running a charter fishing business as a front, making homemade wine in igloo coolers and taking out the occasional troublemaker with his rifle. With his “blue eyed devil” rant, the islands were a perfect fit. Those conferences Granny goes to every couple months…”

I shook my head and my eyes fell upon a photo of my two youngest cousins, my minder’s kids.

“The babies?”

“They’re in assassin training now. They have to take out someone close to them. Their dad wants a change in duties, so he recommended someone to them that would speed up that process.”

“Oh, OK. So there’s hope for them?”

“Depends. I heard they’re getting close to some dumb relative who keeps feeding them and giving them money and sugar packets. Again, whoever it is, their dad suggested it as a means of getting himself reassigned.”

Wow. Pity that poor sucker.

Final question.

“Granny?”

Roll of the eyes. “ Can’t touch her. Highest clearance. She’s an Angel.”

Well, hell, at least I knew that already.