Bastard

I have never thought of myself as a bastard. The word is a rather overused vuglarity. Webster's Unabridged defines bastard as: "something that is spurious, irregular, inferior, or of questionable origin; one born out of wedlock : an illegitimate child." That's me. Bastard. Someone who is, historically, an outcast. It seems unfair to judge someone because he/she was born to a woman without a wedding ring. A wedding ring does not necessarily indicate love or responsibilty. The ring merely indicates a contract rather than affection. Not that the commitment and the emotion shouldn't go hand-in-hand. I believe that the two things can (and ideally should) conincide ... they just often don't, much to my dismay. So what happened to my natural mother? Did she decide to end a bad or loveless relationship or did she suddenly find herself and her dreams dumped? If it's the former: well, that took a lot of guts. If it's the latter: well, I hope she's better for it. Either way, I can only begin to imagine her pain.

A long time ago I decided I would never allow myself to be forced to marry. No matter the circumstance. No matter the pressure. The history behind my birth is still a mystery. I have no idea what happened or why. I've had several notions over the years ranging from childish fairytale to worst case scenario. I guess I'll never know unless I make an effort to find out. The idea intrigues me.