Photo by Emiliano Bar on Unsplash
Did the title get you? Yeah, I figured it would. I think about this aspect of my origin story frequently, as I’m floating around my own head, attempting to make sense of the universe and my place in it. My childhood and adolescence were as normal as anyone’s, raised around middle-class grandparents by aspiring middle-class parents, though my dad would best be described as “aspiring upper class”, as he had a penchant for pyramid schemes that promised huge returns on minimal investment. We moved to a ranch style home on the outskirts of town when I was six. My sister was born when I was seven. My parents divorced when I was ten. Typical stuff. Joint custody was peaceful and uneventful with my dad doing his best, while obviously lacking the parental instinct of my mother who raised us by committee with my grandparents and aunt. This was partially out of necessity due to long work hours, but the multi-generational household had been a tradition in my family since the first of us walked off the boat from Germany 150 years ago.
Dad’s effort continued in this way until my fifth grade year, when he pulled me aside to tell me my uncle would be coming to stay with us. I thought it strange, as his brother had a family and a home, but then I learned of my other uncles. My dad had a handful of brothers, close friends who during the late-1960s and early-1970s, collectively formed a counterculture bond indicative of the time period. I would meet these uncles periodically throughout my adolescence, all would welcome me as though I were their real nephew, but only one would come to live with us and leave an indelible mark on me.
“He’s your Uncle Flew. He’ll be here next week,” I remember dad saying.
“Why is he gonna live with us?” I asked.
“He needs a place to stay. He’s getting out of prison.”
I remember going silent, not from shock, but from lack of understanding. In my world, crime happened on television. Perry Mason and Walker, Texas Ranger. Jail and prison were plot devices or settings in procedurals. Even Cops wasn’t real to me. My expression must have held the all-important question: Why is he in prison?
“He was framed for murder. For killing his step-daughter,” Dad answered.
Facts of the Case
The defendant was found guilty of the second degree murder of E. G., the eighteen-month-old daughter of his wife by a former marriage. At the conclusion of a jury trial in Circuit Court, the defendant was sentenced on March 25, 1976, to life imprisonment.