Funerals are a fascinating formality that I’ve tried to avoid attending most of my life. I will typically go to the viewing to pay my sincere respects, but unless I’m involved in the ceremony this is where I draw the line. I read poems at both my mom and dad’s funerals, and have been a pall bearer at two others. Fortunately, I have not been faced with any tragic surprises. In other cases, I’ve just been too far away to attend and have reached out with support in other ways. It’s always been an uncomfortable experience for me, as I prefer remembering someone while they’re still on the own two feet. Formality of any kind makes me nervous. 

I got caught up watching a little bit of the George H. W. Bush ceremony on TV, with these same awkward feelings. I saw the Trumps separated from the Clintons by the Obamas. I observed the elaborate pomp and circumstance associated with the death of a President. I’m sure that George himself would have been embarrassed. I also couldn’t help but wonder about my own final days, knowing life’s twists and turns. It’s inevitable for all of us but difficult to imagine. I think I would prefer a party, certainly not a somber affair with singing choirs, moments of silence, processionals, and biblical readings. I can’t even sit through a church service, let alone watch this media circus on TV, so please give me my fantasy world instead. I soon turned to the conclusion of the Bloodline series that has recently captivated my interest.

Is it just me or does every modern mystery story need a bastard in the mix? It’s that unexpected twist that combines romance with the accidental product of sin; girl meets boy, one thing leads to another, and a child is conceived. There are essentially three alternatives: abortion, marriage, or single parenthood. Sometimes a foster home comes into play, and this child’s life becomes even more complicated. Out-of-nowhere, in the middle of the story the existence of the bastard child is revealed and everything suddenly changes. I’ve seen it too many times in books and TV dramas to the point where I’m no longer surprised. Maybe it’s because I’m one of these bastards?

A king dies and his supposed son is to be successor. It was not his child but rather someone else’s. A politician’s run for President is derailed when the existence of a daughter is uncovered, proof of an illicit affair in an otherwise unblemished marriage. A crime is solved because DNA of an unwanted child matches the rapist. Children that are never told they were adopted. A dying man thinks he has no heirs. A woman dies in child birth, but the father never knows. The promiscuous young girl doesn’t get her high school degree because she’s sent away to give birth to a bastard son and disowned by her family. She may later seek revenge, while the boy grows up to be Governor. A lie is uncovered when an illegal abortion is later exposed. Twins were actually triplets but separated by the agency to supposedly enable their adoption. A father never knows that his one-night-stand led to the birth of a daughter that is now his young bride. The bastard seeks a bribe to keep their dirty little secret (now that’s a true bastard!). A child unknowingly murders his own father. A woman makes a new friend that turns out to be a daughter she gave up for adoption. Some of these are even true stories.

The biggest thrill on a roller coaster is an unexpected twist or an unanticipated drop. Same is true with any TV show or novel. The more unlikely the scenario; the bigger the surprise and the better the story. The trick is in deceiving the experienced reader or viewer that has witnessed it all through the years. In retirement, I feel that I have reached this saturation point, where I’m looking for the bastard and anticipating most of the twists. After all, it takes a bastard to know a bastard! At this age, it’s hard to be tricked by any story line, so please don’t be disappointed if you can’t catch me off-guard.