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Not the generic sort of “if anyone bothers you, find an adult you know or a police officer and tell them _______,” but the very specific “if a blonde woman about yea high introduces herself as Charlie, run. If she tries to pick you up, hug you, touch you, anything, fight like Hell and run, run, run.”Teachers at my elementary school were warned. My bedroom windows were nailed shut from the inside. But I do recall asking her about it, quite mildly, just a couple of years ago, something along the lines of, “Hey, Mama, remember that woman Charlie?
Find a teacher, find Mom or Dad, find a police officer. I had my very own security guard who waited with me outside at the end of every day until my mother pulled up. My father, I was later told, kept a pistol by his bed, and some nights would set a chair in front of the front door and sleep there, rifle at the ready, just in case. I was just thinking about her the other day.”And in the typical fashion of someone who’s spent 60 years weaving so many lies she can’t even keep her aliases straight, she looked at me blankly and said, “Who?
This woman, so all were told, was obsessed with my father. It’s hardly the only, or even biggest thing she lied about. ”My family never seemed perfect to me, although they certainly maintained that illusion for a long time in our hometown, and this is hardly the most disturbing thing that occurred, but it was one of my earliest flashes of insight that there was something far beyond generic “dysfunctional family* manifesting in my bloodline.
She wanted to get my mother out of the way — divorce, or death, it didn’t matter either way — and marry my father, raise me as her own. The constant, looming threat of kidnapping — the presence of this woman whom I’d never met, the Great and Terrible Terror known as Charlie — was one of the defining themes of my entire childhood. She was, it was later discovered, fond of criminal behavior, child abuse, and elaborate lies that spanned out through the family, the community, her various lovers.
Per prima cosa decidere dove posizionare la fotocamera all'interno della cassetta.
Io ho tenuto la cassetta verticale e la fotocamera posizionata nella parte alta.
Credit: Galiullin Ruslan/Shutterstock The mum remarried when her kids were quite young to a new “perfect stepdad”. The darkest part IMHO is that her mum forgave him for filming her 15 year old daughter in the bath and on the toilet, told the daughter she would always put her husband first and arranged for her daughter to go and live with her nan.
Roll on ten years and the 15 year old daughter notices something in the bathroom while she’s showering. Credit: andriano.cz/Shutterstock One of my earliest memories is being prepped for kidnapping.
This being a trope about secrets there will be Spoilers ahead.
When you get even bigger in scale you get an Empire with a Dark Secret.
My Greatest Failure is a particularly common type of Dark Secret, and it is often an element of a Dark and Troubled Past or a Mysterious Past and revealed in a Troubled Backstory Flashback.
Related to They're Called Personal Issues for a Reason.
See Open Secret for when your secret is not so secret.