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My grandmother heard a baby crying in an abandoned house, she was worried the baby had been abandoned. The mother was passed out drunk and the baby was filthy and screaming. Gran took the baby and left the mum a note saying where to find her. She took the baby home fed and bathed her, she went to return the baby but the mother was gone, so she kept the baby and raised her. So technically my grandmother was a kidnapper.
My ‘uncle’ lived with my dads family from less than a year old. His mother couldn’t/wouldn’t look after him. My grandma saw her 3 times since she took him.
He didn’t have identity problems until he tried to get a passport. He was given a licence without a birth certificate many years ago at the police station. You didn’t need identification for much at all back than.
So cant imagine it would have been too hard at all back then.
I bump up 3 year old posts on forums
Not so much a dark secret but my dad had a secret family. He was a fisherman so was away for 3-4 weeks at a time, we lived in Victoria at the time and the secret family was in Tasmania. My mum found out when their son was 2 or 3, his mum called our house phone because their son was in the hospital and she couldn't get in touch with my dad (I can't remember where he was at the time)
My dads brother is a pedophile who was put in jail for molesting his 2 nephews. After he was released my grandma (dads mum) wanted him to come and stay at our house with her for a holiday and she cracked the shits when mum said no. I was only 4 and my brothers were only 5 and 7 at the time.
We don't associate with that side of the family anymore...
Everyone knows my daughter was adopted, but no one knows she is actually my younger sisters child, even our parents.
I don’t speak with my father because he’s a pedophile and abused me as a baby/toddler. I wasn’t told until I had my first child and my mother freaked out when I said he was coming to stay. He had been an active part of my life up until that point. All the extended family knew, my mother knew. I had severe anger and anxiety as a child and never knew why until that point. Apparently a psychologist told my mum it was better if I was never told.
My Mum, when she was a child tried telling her parents that her Great-Uncle had touched her, they didn't believe her and sent my Mum over to his house anyway, she endured years of him before finding out that he was a convicted rapist. Flash forward to when she was a teenager and her chronic alcoholic parents would send her over to men's houses to 'clean their homes' for money, they were prostituting my Mum, they knew what was happening, because it happened at every house. My Mum never said anything, out of devotion to her parents and I suppose, out of considering it normal. She fell pregnant at 19 with my sister and fled, she married my Dad and had me, Dad raised my sister as his own.
Mum was always fiercely protective of us, until my Dad died and she obviously couldn't live alone, she married another man very quickly and he started abusing us, I told my Mum, she believed me... She did nothing. I put up with it for many years.
Sometimes I worry, how she could change from fiercely protective to just not giving a shit, I worry about how absolutely devoted I am to my children and how I know in the deepest depths of my soul I would kill anyone who touched them. But what if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree? I fret over it, consumed by guilt over somerhing that hasn't happened. I would move heaven and earth to protect my babies, I know I would, but that stupid, irrational fear continues. It's a voice I can't stop.
I still see my Mum, I love her, I don't know why I do.
I know that my cousin was abused by her Dad (my uncle). When we were about 3 or 4 my mum babysat her quite a bit and in true 80's style parenting Mum left us to our own devices pretty much all day. My cousin was very bossy and started playing games with me. Like clothes off games. She would get us to sit with our legs apart and each others feet touching and take it in turns to roll a ball or something into each others vaginas. Or she would get me to sit spread legged in the bath and then just kick me as hard as she could between the legs. She would lick me in bed, between the legs then get me to do it back. She would always tell me not to tell anyone. She was quite full on. I stayed at her house one night and we went to bed and were starting our 'games' in bed when my uncle walked in. I started laughing not realising we were doing something wrong but my cousin froze with fear. He walked over to the bed and pulled the blankets down to see we had no pants on and just stood there staring not saying a word. Then my aunty started calling out and he left. As I got older I felt embarrassed by it all, but then as I hit my teens I started realising that it all was not right, something was going on there and came to the conclusion that my uncle abused my cousin. We are both late 30's now and she has had a rough life. She left home at 15 and spent her 20s on meth. She has a daughter now and I don't think she does meth anymore just smokes pot. Never had a job. I don't think she has told anyone, she still talks to her parents and my uncle still has contact with all his grandkids which makes me sick. As well as his frequent trips to Thailand by himself. If she won't come forward there's not much I can do.
My great grandma was stolen in the early 1900s. She was half caste. Her father was aboriginal. He basically disappeared. He was seen at the hospital when she checked in then was never seen again. I dont know if he went walk about or if he was murdered. Either way there is a woman sitting in a hospital bed waiting for him and she waited forever. She never did leave the hospital and was put to work in the laundry.
Her baby was taken from her. She lived the rest of her life not even knowing that her daughter had a wonderful life and had many children and lived to a ripe old age surrounded by grandchildren. It is sad to think the thoughts that would have gone through her head and the uncertainty of knowing if they were happy, loved or even alive. She suffered a breakdown and lived out her life a broken hearted mother shunned by the majority of the family. Although it ended well for the baby she is still someone who was stolen from the arms of her mother and this is not ok.
The child was raised with no connection to her ancestry except whispers said from one relative to the other. The darkness of her fathers skin eventually bred out with each generation like coffee having milk added to it.
We knew of our history and thoroughly investigated it and my aunt, uncle and mother always identified with their Aboriginal roots feeling a strong connection to their sad history.
Then I came along with my olive skin, dark brown hair which makes me resemble more like someone from mexico. Then I had flame haired fair children. My cousin had super blond fair tiny little children even though her own grandfather on her mums side was half caste.
We had always been open and proud of our heritage and our sprinkling of history. I would laugh and say that those that took her baby may have thought they could breed it out but the dna is still in there even if its just the sprinkles on top of a cupcake. I was proud of all our heritage and the complex mix of ingredients from all far corners of the world that made me me.
Then I was told by a local aboriginal leader who monitors a facebook page up here words that to this day still send a pang of sadness, rejection and also shame in me.
Words to the effect of "Look at you. You arent one of us. You are too white. Go be with your own people. We are not it white fellow"
These words were burnt into my soul.
You see I realized something. The white policy didnt necessarily breed us out. The baby stealers knew eventually our own people would not accept us back anymore for we would be looking too much like those that stole the children to begin with.
So our secret is my aboriginal heritage dies with me. My children will not know of their great grandmas plight. They will just be another white fellow.
What a very sad story. I don’t believe you need to be a certain colour to identify as a certain group. Shame on that Facebook page. Sounds like you are better off without them. But it would be an absolute tragedy if you let your family’s story die with you. Tell your children about their ancestors. Tell them skin colour and hair colour and eye colour doesn’t define you. I of many proud aboriginal people who look more ‘white’ than ‘black’.
I have many Aboriginal friends of varying shades, castes (I hate using that word but can’t think of another) who all see each other and themselves as Aboriginal. They are in touch with their culture. They all agree that it is the culture, not skin colour, that makes them Aboriginal.
My family is rought with abuse and incest.
My mother is a product of her mother being raped by her father (my mums grandfather). So mums father = her father/grandfather.
Literally the tip of the ice berg.
As a child I remember being kept away from a step uncle. I was never allowed alone and was told he was a bad person. When I grew up I found out he was a child sex offender who bribed his own daughter with bags of chips... The little girl (my step cousin) grew up to become a sever drug addict. We no longer associate with the family and that piece of shit never went to jail for his crimes.
My children’s grandfather is currently serving time for murders. It isn’t exactly a “secret” but I don’t broadcast it. Only if I’m directly asked will I answer. So far i haven’t had any directly ask me if my ex fil is a murderer, so I haven’t had to tell anyone.
That I have sex regularly with my dad