No matter how much kids love their parents, they are rarely fully honest with them about what goes on in their lives. Certain aspects of one’s day-to-day living are meant to be kept secret in order to avoid unnecessary family drama and heartache. Here are some of the confidential tidbits that these Redditors are hoping to take to the grave with them.
When my daughter was four years old, she really wanted to play with the strings of magnetic balls I had on my desk. I knew they were intended for children over the age of 12, but she was having a really good time with them, so I let her be. She came up to me about 20 minutes later, saying meekly, “Daddy?” I turned to look at her, and my jaw DROPPED.
I could see that the bottom of one magnet was sticking out her nose. Not knowing how many were up there, I gently used the bigger magnets I had to coax the whole string out. I decided to never share that incident with mom.
It wasn’t a secret we kept long, but it does count! My mother is from Thailand, and a convert from Buddhism to Christianity. Despite this, my mother does have a firm belief in ghosts, especially in cases of sudden, violent acts, as that is an everyday belief in Thailand. My dad bought a property of thirty acres for cheap from the state, and about six months in, I visited him there.
Around a campfire, he got this mischievous look and told me the most disturbing story. Apparently, the reason the property was so cheap was that the man who had previously owned it set his house on fire and ended his own life with socks on his hands to try and make it seem like his wife did it. The problem was, his house didn’t quite burn fast enough, and the firemen were able to put it out.
They found the body and immediately pegged it as a suicide. He’d been going through a divorce and was just a few aces short of a full deck of cards. My mother would have had a cash cow. Instead, she’d been living there on and off for six months and there were no spooky hauntings. Eventually, my dad did tell her, and naturally, my mother immediately called a preacher to bless the property.
When I was a kid, I was playing Tekken 3 in the living room and I kept dying to the boss. So I kicked the window in aggravation, breaking a grid of it, not knowing my own strength. I then panicked and came up with what I thought was a genius plan: I place a baseball in front of the broken window and blamed it on the kids across the street who were my friends. But I made one huge mistake.
I cut my foot in the process and my mom found me trying to clean it. She knew it was me right away, but we were all about to go to Universal Studios and she still wanted to go. If she told my dad, we wouldn’t have gone as a punishment, so instead, she punished me by taking away the PS2 for a week because I “played too many video games” anyway; even though I had good grades.
My parents divorced a few years later and we to this day never told my dad it was really me. We still went to Universal Studios right after that whole incident.
My friends and I were hanging out in a parking lot at night somewhere in our New England town. I had my family car, a 2006 Nissan Pathfinder. I had recently gotten my license and, of course, in high school, nothing was better than driving around with your friends, blasting music, and hanging out in parking lots.
I had my BB pistol (powered by C02 cartridges) and we were shooting at trees. I turned to shoot the license plate of the Pathfinder in an attempt to look cool—but I messed up BAD: I shot out the back window instead. One of my friends who was in the car started screaming out of fear and confusion. I realized at that moment how much trouble I’d be in with my parents, so I decided to cover it up.
We drive (with a completely shattered back window) to the RiteAid to grab a dustpan and bag. We swept up all the broken glass and drove downtown to a sketchier part of town. I parked the Pathfinder next to this small graveyard and scattered the glass around to stage a break-in. We gathered ourselves and I got out my flip phone to call my parents. Then I put on the greatest performance of my life.
I fake cried and told them that their car was broken into as we were walking around downtown. My dad drove to meet us at the scene. He didn’t suspect a thing and I was so proud of myself for getting away with that one. Years later, the story was brought up and I decided to tell my dad the truth. He laughed and told me he knew we were lying when he got there, specifically because of my best friend’s face.
Apparently, she looked suspicious as heck…which is hilarious because she was the actress of our group and very involved in theater. Anyway, it always gives me a good laugh to think about that night and my dad’s reaction. He keeps this a secret from my mom (who would not think it’s funny) even to this day.
A few years back, we went on a ski trip. My wife and I were with our friends, and some of them had kids. I’m a first chair, last chair type of person. I’m in line ASAP and I go until I can’t go anymore. Well, the group was getting tired, so I said I’d take the kids with me. I took them up the mountain way higher than their parents ever would have. We all got some good speed, but those kids were super good skiers. It was all going smoothly until I made a horrifying realization.
My niece (the youngest of the bunch) got a bit out of control and was headed straight for the trees. I zipped over and caught her just before she hit the tree line. All four of us stopped what we were doing and even though the kids were young, they understood we weren’t going to be telling their moms and dads about anything, even though no words were spoken.
Turns out, the earliest memory my niece has of her life is of that day. She doesn’t remember the tree part, but her moment with me up high in the hills is the earliest memory she can pinpoint. One of these days, I’ll let my brother-in-law and sister-in-law know what happened, but I’ll wait for a few more years when the kids stop going up with me.
My mother was a very heavy drinker, and due to her habit, she developed a special type of dementia known as Korsakoff’s syndrome! She would forget things that were mentioned to her within a few hours, so when she was informed in the hospital of her terminal lung cancer and secondary bone cancer, she couldn’t understand why she was so ill.
We had to get her home care help, so my dad and I created a narrative—we told her that the nurses and care staff who looked after were all there to help her get better and back on her feet. She happily accepted the care and enjoyed her time with everyone. Then just before Christmas, she passed peacefully in her sleep, without even knowing that she had been sick and dying for several months.
When I was 14, we went for a family bike ride. I got to the car first, dropped my bike, got the hide-a-key, and went to move the car as a joke. I wanted to make it look like it had been stolen. But the second I started backing up, I heard an ominous crunch. I’d driven right over my bike. I told my mom, and together we decided to lie to my dad about what really happened.
We told him that it got bent going off a sweet jump. The bike store guy didn’t believe it, but he was a family friend and gave us a rental at a discount. 20 years later, we finally told him the truth. Now he has dementia and still thinks it got wrecked off a sweet jump. We don’t tell him the truth.
I was going on a senior class trip, and I had saved up some money to splurge a bit while I was there. My family had very little money back then, which is why I made it a point to save up for myself so that my parents wouldn’t have to. A few days prior, my dad said, “Hey, here’s a few hundred bucks; have a great time and make some lasting memories. Don’t tell your mother.” I, naturally, agreed and didn’t tell my mother.
The very next day, my mom said to me, “Hey, here’s a few hundred bucks; have a great time and make some lasting memories. Don’t tell your father.” I, naturally, agreed and didn’t tell my father. The trip was amazing—I was able to do way more than I had initially planned and I was able to help a few of my friends do the same.
I told my parents that it was amazing, and each of them separately gave me the old wink-wink-nudge-nudge. Decades later, I was visiting my family, and the subject of “Don’t tell your mom or dad stuff” came up since I have kids of my own now. I told them about how they had both given me the extra money for the trip, and how I was more than happy to not tattle on them to each other.
They looked at each other, all comically wide-eyed, and laughed their butts off, swatting at each other’s arms and stuff.
When I was about eight years old, I was helping my dad put up Christmas lights on the second-floor roof. He told me to get another strand of lights and I walked to the edge of the roof. That’s when the worst happened. I straight-up slipped and fell off the roof, landing on the picnic table on the ground floor. My dad had no idea that I fell off until I yelled back, “I’m okay!”
He made me swear that I’d never tell my mom. And that was the last year we EVER put lights up on the roof.
He didn’t keep it for very long, but my dad found out I was having a suspected ectopic pregnancy before my mom. It was three days before Christmas and he came around to drop some gifts off thinking I was at work. Instead, he found my hospital letter and me crying on the sofa. We’re quite close but not really affectionate, so it meant a great deal to me when he comforted me silently whilst I sobbed and sobbed.
He said, “I will tell your mom if you want me to, or I won’t tell her, and if it’s something you want to share with her yourself, then you can tell her when you’re ready.” In the end, I asked him to tell her, but how he handled it really meant a lot. My mom’s awesome, but she would have smothered me with love and not let me out of her sight, and I just wanted to forget about it.
Anyway, he took me to all my follow-up appointments, and on December 23rd, we found out that the baby was in fact growing exactly where she was meant to be. She’s four now.
My dad told me how my mom forged his signature to remortgage the house so she could go shopping. When he found out, all my mom could say was: “It’s only money.” But that wasn’t the worst part. My Dad also bailed her out of her credit card debts, which were in the tens of thousands. He even had to refinance part of the house to pay for a multiple credit card bill of close to $50k.
When I was clearing out my parents’ house to sell it, I found a sheet of paper with the math working out how much my mom owed. She had nothing to show from her spending. My dad said the only reason he didn’t leave was because of me and my brother. I never told my mom because I knew she would lie about it. My dad passed two years before my mom, and I miss him a lot.
When I was a kid, my older sister (maybe nine or 10 at the time) asked my mom if she could help her pull the car into the garage. My mom (not using her best judgment) decided to let her. It was the worst idea possible. My sister stomped the gas pedal and drove the car through the back of the garage and into our kitchen. My mom told my dad, as well as the rest of us siblings, that she herself had driven the car into the kitchen.
She said she thought she saw one of us out of the corner of her eye and panicked. It wasn’t until years later that I was told the truth. My parents separated a few years after this incident and my dad didn’t know the truth for a very long time…about 10 to 15 years after the fact. My sister is now 35 and we all joke about it.
My mom and dad were arguing over what shade of brown to paint the house. My mom wanted a lighter color (too light in my dad’s opinion) and my dad and I wanted a darker color (of course, too dark in my mom’s opinion). Well, when we had the painters come, they painted one side of the house in a lighter brown. My dad and I took one look and told them to make the rest of the house darker, so they did.
My mom came home and fawned over how great the house looked, not knowing three of the four sides of the house were NOT the color she wanted. The one lighter side is up against a bunch of trees and is close enough in color to the rest that it’s impossible to tell unless you look for it or know it already. It’s our secret and we will never tell! But everyone is happy with the house color.
My dad loves it when he finds change on the ground while traveling overseas. One day, we were walking behind my mom in an alleyway in Amsterdam and he was elated because he kept finding Euros laying around. A few years later, the hilarious truth came out. My mom told me that she had been secretly dropping coins on the ground as she walked so he’d be happy when he found them. He still doesn’t know.
When I turned 21, my parents took me out to a fancy cocktail bar because they wanted me to get an idea of what fancy drinking was like before I inevitably resorted to being a degenerate with my buddies. We went to a number of cocktail bars and at each one, without fail, they (obviously) carded me. BUT, they also carded my mom as well, to her surprise and elation.
She was practically giddy. I remember her telling me how all the bartenders keep carding her and how it made her feel 21 again. I wrote it up as a coincidence. A year or two later, I was hanging with my dad and I mentioned the evening as a fond memory. I told him how it was crazy that all of those bartenders thought my mom needed to be carded. He looked at me and said, “Oh I did that. I told all of them to card her so that it would make her feel young.”
Unaware to me, my mom had been feeling old at the time as she watched her sons leave for college and grow up. To this day, I haven’t told my mom, but I always share a smile with my dad whenever the story gets brought up. He’s a good man.
When I was a wee toddler in the late ’60s, my dad took me to some wilderness park that he loved as a kid. While wearing equipment for kids that was much too big for me, I fell from a great height and was knocked out cold for a short time. I can remember spitting out big pebbles of sand out of a dry dirty mouth and crying. I was near adulthood and having worse misadventures of my own doing before mom heard the story.
My parents divorced when I was quite young, and when I was around 14 years old, I happened upon my mother’s darkest secret: a substantial stash of substances hidden in the house. She wasn’t angry about it or anything, and I knew it wasn’t mine—it was just a one-time thing she’d gotten from a friend. But as she pointed out, if I ever told my dad, he would do everything in his power to get full custody of me, and I wouldn’t get to live with her anymore.
Now that my brothers and I are all adults, I can tell that story all I want…but yeah, I kept that secret from my dad.
My stepdad and my mom broke up. The day my mom left, she took me with her, and I went back into the house to say goodbye. I got along well with him since my mom is a bit crazy. I was young; middle school age. He was devastated and broke down crying, which I had never seen him do before. He then revealed to me the real reason why he had issues getting along with my mom.
Apparently, he was taken advantage of as a child, and he had a hard time getting close to her. He made me promise not to tell her or anyone. I never did. I always wondered if I should tell her, but keeping his secret was the only thing I could do for him. I care for him a lot, so I never told anyone. Sadly, he passed some years ago.
My dad and I would wrestle for fun. He would pretend to let me win, and then he would get sudden strength and throw me into the couch. Well, on this particular day, he mistimed his throw and sent me flying into the end table. I was fine…but the lamp on the table was not. We cleaned it up and went to the antique store to buy a really similar lamp. Mom never figured it out.
I was scammed out of my money when I was young and a newly hired employee. I had slept with the scammer who then lied to me about how I got her pregnant. I was stupidly naive. I gave her almost half of my one-month salary. After I sent the money, she blocked me and never saw her again. I don’t even know if the name she gave me was real.
After I misplaced a clump of dollar bills when I was a kid, my dad made me keep a detailed ledger book of my allowance and all my purchases. If the numbers didn’t match up at allowance time, I would be in trouble. He would also take that time to scrutinize all of my purchases. Like, he’d tell me what percentage of my “annual income” I had spent on a t-shirt or a present for a friend or something like that.
He also wouldn’t give me the allowance money unless I asked specifically for it first and presented my ledger for inspection. There were multiple times when my mom would give me some money for helping out or things like that, but I wasn’t supposed to be earning any allowance because I was grounded for bad grades. I “cooked the books” to make it all line up.
Eventually, the whole thing got ridiculous and I would just outright take the money from my parents without telling them…but I think my mom thought the whole ledger routine was more than a little too much.
I came from a super strict religious household where I wasn’t allowed to watch about 99% of what my classmates were watching. I thought the reins would loosen a little bit when I was in high school, but they really didn’t. It was pretty miserable. When I was a high school senior, South Park was pretty big and I hated that all of my friends were watching it and I never got any of the references.
My dad thought it was a hilarious show and he admitted that he thought my mom’s rules were dumb. So, whenever South Park came on the TV (which was always after my mom was already asleep) my dad and I would watch it and it eventually became our thing. On South Park nights, my dad and I would stay up and watch it together.
We did this my whole senior year and even during my first few years of college when I came home for holiday breaks (Yes, the same rules were still in place then). It was kind of a silly little secret, but those are some of the best times with my dad just laughing and catching up during the commercials.
I think I was about 14 when my dad and I got interested in a trading card game together and started going to local tournaments. My parents were divorced and my dad had custody, and a tournament fell on a weekend I was supposed to visit my mother. She knew about the tournament, and I think I asked to postpone the visit, but she denied it.
So my dad said I could pretend to be sick and so I could play, and I did. Well, my mother didn’t believe me. On the day of the tournament, she drove down to the game store where the tournament was being held and asked if I was there by name. The owner knew me and that he would go check in the back room.
He warned my dad and me that my mom had arrived and shuffled me out the back door. I sneaked away to a nearby pizza place and hid there until I got a phone call that she left. When my phone rang, I came back with my pizza and finished the tournament. They had paused the whole thing, waiting for my return. To this day, I haven’t told my mother.
After college, I was really struggling financially. Despite having a “real job,” I was grossly underpaid and living in my truck. My mom was in charge of the household budget and managed to squeeze a couple extra hundred dollars per month to pay for my car insurance, gas, and some new dress clothes so I could interview for jobs. My dad wanted to cut me off entirely so I could “learn to take care of myself,” but missed the fact we were in the middle of a recession.
She also sent me weekly care packages from work which were full of food and things that I needed. He still has no idea that she did this and it was 20 years ago.
This is a silly one, but years ago, my dad was completely against dogs because he was absolutely germaphobic when it came to them. Still, because I begged my mom, we still got a dog, with strict rules about where the dog was allowed, washing hands, etc. Cue one fine day when we were waiting for my dad’s coffee to cool down on the counter. I walked back into the kitchen to find the dog standing up on her hind legs licking out of his cup.
We just quietly washed the cup, got him a new one, and we never told him. He would have thrown out the mug, and it was one that I got him out of my own savings for Christmas when I was in the second grade, so I would have been upset if he threw it out. To this day, he still doesn’t know, and he would still probably throw out that mug if he ever found out.
My older brother took my mom’s $60,000 wedding ring and gave it back to my dad during a very messy divorce. He said he did it because “she didn’t deserve it” and to show my dad his unwavering loyalty to him. An insurance claim was filed, paid out, and everything. My mom still thinks she actually lost it and my dad still has the ring sitting in his safe 14 years later.
Nobody on either side knows that I know exactly what happened. Taking that one to the grave, for sure. Divorce is some heavy business.
My mom won’t let me out of the house. I cannot go to the store or for a walk unsupervised because it’s “too dangerous.” I have friends, but in order to go out with them, my mom needs an invite from their parents at least two days prior. Most of my friends have a chill approach to going out, so I miss out on a lot of things. Once, she almost didn’t let me go to a party because I received the invite from the birthday boy rather than his parents. Her reasons were ridiculous.
She didn’t want to let me go because “receiving an invite from a high schooler is untrustworthy.” I visit my dad on Sundays. He lets me go to the store whenever I want. He lets me go on hikes. Sometimes, he’ll even drive me to meet my friends. Without him, I wouldn’t know how to navigate the city. I wouldn’t have any friends left. He’s my best friend. Thanks, dad.
When I was nine years old, my dad went to drop me off at school, and at the door, the teacher asked if I had a water bottle with me because we were going to a museum or something like that. Well, I didn’t, but my dad said, “Don’t worry; let’s go buy one quickly.” As soon as we got in the car, he asked me, “Do you want to skip school and go have fun instead?”
So I skipped school and we had breakfast in a nice restaurant. Later, we went to my aunt’s house and played all day together. I’m 27 now and my mom doesn’t know.
My dad stopped drinking when I was around eight years old because the doctor said he’d pass within the year if he didn’t. When I was around 13 years old, he made a scary confession: He told me that he wanted to end himself. That was about a year after he had stopped drinking. He obviously told me not to tell my mother. I don’t think he really had anyone else he could go to with those thoughts.
I still nag him to this day to seek therapy, as I don’t think he’s properly faced his demons.
When my daughter was 11 years old, she was into using epoxy with crafts. My now ex-wife had told her to spread out newspapers before doing it. Well, she got some of the epoxies on the expensive granite countertop. She decided to get it off with sandpaper and ended up leaving scratches on the counter. My daughter finally worked up the courage to tell me.
I replied, “It has been an honor and a privilege to be your father, but you are now totally screwed. I got nothing for ya.” A couple of years later, we divorced, sold the house, and then she told her mom, who had never noticed.
Every once in a while, my dad is completely clueless about what to get my mom for special occasions. When I lived with my parents, I was around my mom a lot, so when we went out, I would notice her admiring certain things. “Wow, look at this beautiful diamond bracelet! I wish your dad got me things like this every once in a while…” etc., etc. I then would pass the word along to my dad.
When my mom received her gifts, she would always be very touched and happy. She’d sometimes whisper to me: “Wee Wolf, I prayed for your father to get me this bracelet and God answered my prayers!” She never knew that it was me all along.
When I was 10, my older brother was bullied in middle school because we were poor. He fought back one day and was suspended from school. When my mom asked what happened, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so he lied. I told her what happened and she started to cry. The next day, she took us to a shoe store and bought all three boys Nikes, which were very expensive.
She made us promise to not tell our dad and if he asked, we were to tell them that they were super cheap on sale. She bought us Nikes two times a school year even though they were way out of our budget because she didn’t want us to feel bad at school. I love you, mom.
When I was in high school, I was mostly a good kid. I volunteered with people with developmental disabilities, I was a lector at church, I worked hard on my grades…all the classic stuff. But I did have one vice: I used to have friends over and drink their drinks. We would often water the containers down when we were done, just to be on the safe side.
I always assumed they knew and were just looking the other way. Fast forward 16 years—I was 32, at my parents’ house, and my mom wanted a cocktail. I laughed out loud and asked my mom if I realized I used to indulge in drinks as a kid and that I always watered it down. She was shocked and angry; mostly because they had served some of it to her friends!
I was shocked because I always assumed they were pretending not to know. Long story short, I got away with it. But kids—don’t expect you’ll be as lucky as I was!
When my first serious boyfriend and I broke up in high school, it was over the phone. I remember I hung up and sat on the floor of my room, just sobbing. I assume my dad must’ve heard me because he came to my room and just stood there in the doorway looking at me. I blurted out something like, “Frank and I just broke up!” before going right back into my teenage hysterics.
My dad, who isn’t a very physically affectionate or demonstrative person, simply walked into my room, sat down on the floor beside me, and held me. Never said a word. It was exactly what I needed at the time. We never told my mom because she tends to get very jealous of moments like that when she isn’t involved. I’m glad we kept it between us because it is one of the fondest memories I have of my dad. I’m tearing up just thinking about it.
My dad and I used my savings to help pay for my older brother’s apartment. My brother had just graduated from the same out-of-state college I was going to at the time and he hadn’t found a proper “adult” job yet that would cover his bills. He was stuck in his lease and didn’t want to move back home, so my dad asked me if he could borrow money from me to help pay the rent payments (my parents were contributing too).
He also asked if we could keep it a secret from my mom. He said she would panic and worry needlessly. I was working a minimum wage job at the university but I didn’t have expenses yet, so I had a lot of money saved up. My brother was earning pennies and he was using all of it to cover whatever rent or bills he could. My mom didn’t know for a long time how bad it was and how badly my brother was struggling.
It was very difficult for me to know this situation was going on right under her nose and not tell her. It also gave me some anxiety around money.
My dad grew up pretty rich, but he was the youngest of 13, so by the time he came of age, there wasn’t much for him. No big deal—he worked his way through college (which was in the ’80s; back when that was doable), and that’s where I met my mom. My mother grew up on the poverty line, so when it was time for the wedding, my dad really, really wanted her to pick absolutely any wedding dress on Earth that she wanted, no matter the cost.
My mom, having a tighter understanding of money, bought one that had already been worn. She apparently never told him that. They’re both in their 50s now and she made me swear to never tell him either.
My dad’s a great guy, but he’s really hard to read emotionally. Not his fault; it’s just how he was brought up, being the emotional rock in the family and whatnot. When my mom and dad went on their first Valentine’s Day date a long time ago, he bought her a monkey stuffed animal. They’ve had it in the house since then, and it’s been there for the past 40 or so years.
When I moved out for college, they had to take care of my grandma on mom’s side because her husband, my grandpa, had just passed. They were about to get rid of a lot of stuff and I added the monkey to the pile because mom was getting ready to donate it; even though I could tell that she didn’t want to give it away. So the monkey came with me to college and hung out in my room while my mom and dad packed up their stuff and moved to my grandma’s.
When I came back from college to the place where I live now, my dad and I unloaded the truck and he picked up the monkey. His reaction took me by surprise. He stared at it for a bit before tearing up and telling me, “I think I would’ve been even sadder to see this go than your mother would have.” As far as I know, dad hasn’t told mom how much that little stuffed animal means to him and their relationship.
The monkey’s still sitting on the top shelf at my wife’s apartment until my mom and dad can take him back home.
My mom used to send my dad into my room to discipline me. He would whisper to me that we were going to play a little pretend game to make my mom happy. He would tell me he was going to clap his hands and I needed to pretend to cry like I was being hit. I really didn’t realize how awesome my dad was for doing that until much later in life.
His own dad was pretty physical towards him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of hitting a kid because of it.
I never told them about the first time I got tipsy at a party. I was hammered and too scared to take a cab. Then, I remembered my mom telling me I could always call her for help and she’d be there with no consequences. I called her and she picked me up. All she did was make sure I was safe and had enough water to stay hydrated. No blaming me for waking her up at 3 am, no targeted comments; she just told me she was proud of me for calling her for help.
My dad, who’d most likely have a panic attack at the thought of me having been tipsy, still thinks I was picked up because I was sleepy instead. Thanks, mom.
I haven’t told them that I’m harboring a lot of unspoken resentment and anger about the way they treated and raised me when I was a child. I understand that they were young and unprepared, but whenever I bring up past traumatic events, they pretend like it never happened or it didn’t happen “that way.” As a result, I rarely share anything that’s really going on in my life with them, so even though I know them pretty well, they know very little about me.
One year, when I was a kid, we had a two-day school week leading up to Thanksgiving. My dad was a big computer guy and I had just started catching on. We were in the middle of working on a project on a Sunday night and my dad said it’d be cool if we could just keep working on it, especially since it was a holiday week. My dad took me and my sisters to the bus stop the next day.
My sisters’ bus came first, and then my dad took me home so we could keep spending time together. He also loaded me up in the afternoon with my backpack to pick up my sisters. Did the same thing the day after. Mom and all my siblings never found out. I had a blast and it’s one of my best memories with my Dad.
I have a strong suspicion, based on formerly unheard-of DNA relatives, that my grandpa was not my mom’s biological father. She is one of the middle kids, so she would be the result of an affair. My grandparents were long gone when I discovered this, so I’ve never had occasion to discuss it with my grandma. I’ve shared my findings with my dad, but haven’t told my mom as it would cause her more grief than peace.
When I was about 13, my grandma was battling leukemia. We all went to visit her one weekend and my aunt had a small party at her house. Everyone was drinking homemade mixes, and eventually, they all made their way outside, except me and her. She handed me the glass and said, “Try some.” I did. It was great. She followed up with, “It’s good, isn’t it? But if you tell anyone, I’ll end you.”
About a year later, she passed, and I told everyone the story that night. I figured I was safe to tell them. We all laughed and cried about it. And I still cry to this day when I think about it. I miss her. So much.
When I was 16, I picked up a random stranger at the library because he told me he liked my smile. I drove him around a bit, then dropped him off at his apartment complex. I’m so glad, in retrospect, that I got spooked at my own stupidity and declined his offer to go inside. My parents don’t know I did this.
My father got a DNA test done on my autistic, non-verbal little brother because he didn’t think he was his child. The results came back and it turns out my brother is his son, but my mother has no idea my dad ever got that done.
It was during winter break. I once convinced my mom that the tattoo she accidentally saw was a henna tattoo. She proceeded to forget about it since I went back to college. Eight years later, she finally saw it again while fitting me for my wedding dress, and the gig was up.
My sisters and I found my mom’s fantasy love letters that she wrote to other men besides my father. I know they were fantasy because she didn’t even know half of them and some were happily married. They were the saddest things I’ve ever laid eyes on. She wrote about how she wanted to run off with these men and have their babies.
She would write them, wad them up, and just throw them wherever. I’m surprised my father never found them. My youngest sister would scream at her, “ARE YOU INSANE, MOTHER!?!” We just thought she was unhappy with my father and never said anything to him about it.
During my first time cleaning a hunted deer, my uncle reached into the yuck pile and pulled out the deer’s heart. “Coyote.” He told me. “It is a hunter’s tradition to take a bite out of the deer you’ve hunted. It goes back thousands of years, and to break tradition is bad luck.” He explained all this while holding out the deer’s dripping heart.
Without hesitation, because I wanted to be a “man,” I reached out and did what I was told to do, biting into it like an apple and getting blood everywhere as I tried to tear out a chunk. They FLIPPED. They told me they were just teasing me and that no one expected me to really do it. When I did, my other uncle went behind a tree and puked.
“Never, EVER tell your mother, or we’re all finished.” I’m 47. She still doesn’t know.
My dad and I were cutting down a tree in the front yard. There was an angle cut so the tree would fall at about a 90-degree angle toward the house, in between some other trees, but there was no guide rope or other way to direct the tree to the right place. As the final cut was made and the tree began to fall, it was clearly not going where it was supposed to be going.
It fell towards the house, narrowly missing it and falling right between the deck and some other trees. Fortunately, my mom was not home at the time. We cut up the tree into firewood lengths and cleaned up the mess that would have shown where the tree landed. She was never told. I should note that when this happened, I was 40+ years old and I was the one cutting the tree.
My dad was standing safely out of the way, and he just assumed I knew what I was doing. And the worst part of all? My daughter was standing on the deck…
When I was young, I took my mom’s wedding ring to the park and hid it because I thought it was like a treasure. I thought that if I put a stick in the sand where I buried it, I could be like a pirate finding the treasure I hid. Unfortunately, I never found my bounty. I told my dad, and he told me not to worry. He ended up buying her a new one, and he also kept buying her new ones every so often.
We never told her. She never noticed anyway, since he just kept buying her new replacements. A win-win for everyone. I eventually fessed up one Thanksgiving when we were telling random stories.
The world of celebrity is all about gossip, scandal, and larger-than-life personalities—and nobody knew that…