I decided to take a break from braying about my house. I was reminded Monday night of something I started to write ages ago as I sat watching Once and Again. I remember how affected I was by the storyline of Grace and her father, after she learns that her parents’ divorce is a result of his infidelities. And I remember how very much I identified with Grace while watching those episodes.

It's not often that I find a TV show accurately reflecting my emotions. But the last few episodes of Once and Again have resonated with me. All of Grace's anger, heartbreak and disillusionment in response to her father's infidelity is something to which I can more than relate. The writers of those episodes accurately depicted the myriad of emotions a young woman experiences when she is faced with the knowledge that the man she idolized has feet of clay.

My father died a few months before my eighth birthday. His brother, who is also my godfather, stepped in quickly to become a father figure when my father passed. I spent an inordinate amount of time at his house, as it was, because my grandmother lived with him, his wife and their five children. My memories of my uncle from childhood are colored by a strong, silent man who always hugged me, who would allow me to cuddle up next to him on the couch while he watched old spaghetti westerns, who never failed to bring me a trinket from his occasional trips out of town.

I worshiped my uncle. In my mind, he was a hero. He was strong and capable. I was proud to say he was a policeman. I was thrilled that this man was not only my uncle but also a father to me. To him, I was precious and special and though he was not always terribly demonstrative, I knew how much he loved me. Even as I grew older, I still respected and revered him. And then, four years ago I took a job at the very same police department where he spent his thirty year career. In a very short period of time, all my illusions about my uncle would shatter along with my respect and reverence for him.

Not long after I began my job, I was elevated to younger sister status by 110 police officers. Nothing I did, including dating, was above their inspection. At the same time, I was invited to *everything* social that involved the officers. One of the first events I attended was the wedding of an officer I vaguely knew. We had actually attended school together, but he was a senior while I was a seventh grader, so his name was familiar to me but nothing more. I was invited to his wedding by some other officers with whom I had become close friends and was pleased to have been included. I never would have gone had I known then how much one simple wedding would change my world view.

During a conversation with my aunt, I mentioned I had been invited to this certain officer’s wedding. Her face hardened into a mask of pain and betrayal and she bit out, “Your uncle was invited to that wedding. They addressed the invitation to him and a GUEST. They *KNOW* he’s married.” Something in her words and her body language, gave me pause to consider just how well my uncle knew this officer and why my aunt was so disturbed by a botched invitation.

All my life, or at least since I was old enough to understand, I realized my father was not the epitome of faithfulness. I had heard rumors in the same vein about my uncle, but I suppose the adage of, “If you ignore something, you don’t have to do anything about it,” worked for me. I ignored talk of my uncle’s infidelities and though I was hurt deeply by my father’s extra curricular activities, he was long dead and I had no way to vent those feelings. I preferred my life of ignorant bliss in these matters.

However, the bliss soon began to wear off. My aunt’s comments niggled at me. And then I remembered how my mother and my uncle both were dead set against me accepting the job at the police department. At the time, I just chalked it up to my mom wanting me to finish college. But she had said something odd when I started my job, “I just hope you don’t wind up hurt.” I laughed at her. I was to be a grant writer/community relations guru. How could I possibly be hurt? And my uncle’s very first admonishment to me was to “stay the hell away from the FOP Lodge, do you hear me?” Again, I thought he was just being protective of me. He was being protective, alright. Just not of me.

The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place for me. The picture shaping up in my mind was one I just didn’t want to see. After a few weeks though, I was tired of being ignorant and I wanted answers. I had so many questions and I didn’t, couldn’t ask my uncle. So I turned to a very dear friend of mine who also worked at the police department, someone I trusted implicitly, someone who I knew would tell me the truth, regardless of how much it might hurt. I asked her point blank if she knew anything about my uncle and his alleged affair.

I’ll never forget that conversation.

She sighed deeply and said, “please, please don’t ask me this. You’re not ready to hear this. Your mom doesn’t want you to know and asked me when you started working here to keep you protected from this. Please. I don’t want you to hear this from me.”

I assured her that I would not blame her for anything she might tell me. I tried to make it easier for her by saying, “I know he had an affair. I just need to know if it’s true. Was it with Officer X’s mother?”

She sighed deeply again and nodded, “Honey, it’s been going on for thirty years. And as recently as the past year. Didn’t you ever wonder why Officer X is so fond of your uncle? Your uncle raised him.”

All the times my uncle had to *work late*, all the *fishing trips* he went on without any of us, all of the times he said he was going to the Lodge to *relax*, all of the recitals, proms, awards banquets and birthdays he missed because he *couldn’t get away* rushed back at me. A wave of hot nausea broke over me and I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t realized I was crying until I looked at my friend and she was reaching for me to envelope me in a bone crushing hug. She kept murmuring to me, “Let it go. That’s not your load to carry. Let it go.”

But she was wrong. It *is* my load to carry. Like Grace in Once and Again, I feel my uncle not only betrayed my aunt, he betrayed the entire family. He betrayed me. He betrayed my trust and my love and my respect. He lost every shred of my respect and trust and nearly every bit of love I bore him. He forfeited every bit of that when he decided that he would lead a life replete with duplicity and blatant disregard for anyone’s feelings but his own. He left me a legacy of distrust of men. And he lost his biggest supporter.

Unfortunately, my boyfriend bears the brunt of my uncle’s callous disregard for vows and promises and morality. I wish it were different. I wish I could trust my boyfriend. Although he is the most trustworthy man I have ever met, I don’t give him my complete trust. I wish I blindly believed everything he tells me. But I don’t. I question everything as a result of my uncle’s actions. I wish I didn’t think men were lying, cheating bastards who will eventually just break your heart. But I tend to think that very thing.

I also wish I didn’t have my gran’s weakened voice ringing in my ears as she lay dying, calling out for my uncle, now knowing that during those times when I held her hand and told her he was *working* or at the Lodge because he just couldn’t deal with losing her, that I was lying to her. Yet again, he chose them over us. And that is one more thing for which I’ll never, ever forgive him.