Once Upon a Time…




Once upon a time, my Uncle Deannie was my hero.

Once upon a time, my Uncle loved his family.

Once upon a time, my Uncle was a human being.

Alas, now, he has become a Blue Uniform. Nothing matters more to him than the “family” from which he retired. Nothing matters more to him than the Thin Blue Line.

The Thin Blue Line is a Cult.

When a Man who spent years protecting his nieces and nephews from his own brother can turn his back on that family because they question the ethics and ethos of Law Enforcement, that man has become part of a Cult.

That Cult that deems itself the arbiter of Life and Death. That Cult that deems itself Judge, Jury and Executioner.

The Cult that says Comply or Die. Comply or we have the Right to Kill you. The Right to End Your Life because you did not obey the State. Representatives of the State, we are.

The Cult that acts out in contradiction to the Constitution and Bill of Rights of these United States of America.

Some time, about a decade and a half ago, my Uncle, the Cop, disowned everyone in his family who did not blindly accept every action of the State as represented by the Police. By the Enforcers of the Law.

If you did not obey Law Enforcement, he judged your life forfeit. Damn your rights as a Citizen.

Worse, yet, he has recently decided that those who call him on the decisions of his personal life such as his children forfeit all rights to understanding, compassion and love from him. His Wife, I am perplexed to say, has rode shotgun on this wretched inexcusable outlook on life.

This Uncle cheated on his wife. This Uncle had a child out of wedlock. This Uncle lied about it for 30 years. This Uncle put himself out as a beacon of morality. When he was called on his infidelity, he blamed the daughter who, in part, called him on his duplicity and hypocrisy.

This Uncle has decided that he shall disown his own daughter because she acts as he raised her. Because she called him, along with her brother, on his hypocrisy.

The Aunt. The Mother. Simply refused to acknowledge anything. Preferring instead to slam her head in the sand and aim her judgment and anger at the daughter.

Odd. This is. I’d not think to blame others for my poor decisions or the outcomes of those poor decisions. I suppose to have a scapegoat is convenient.

This Uncle is an odd sort.

Strange still is that he has forgotten all of the reasons that made him my hero in my youth. Apparently, now, I, and my siblings, are to blame for all of the imperfections and sins of our Father. We should simply forgive him. Even as he still commits perfidious acts against us time and time again.

Strange thing is family.

Strange and odd.

It is. It is.

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