As I have blogged, three years ago I discovered, thanks to '23 and Me', that I had five sisters (half) and two brothers. (See "It's Official", Sept. 16th, 2025). It turned out we shared a father. That was the biggest "Wow!" in my life, but it was also a gift because two of my sisters keep in touch with me; the other three were evidently horrified because I had burst their hitherto perfect family bubble.
A few days ago, I had a couple of great conversations with Dr. Nora Doyle and Maureen Doyle, the two sisters with whom I am in touch. We shared laughs and swapped stories as if we'd know each other all our lives.
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| Baby sister Maureen |
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| Another baby sister, Dr. Nora Doyle. |
Note: As you know, I found my birth Mother 45 years ago, pre-Internet, thanks to slogging through city directories, forging letters from my Father to the lawyer who had handled the case and phoning complete strangers until I hit pay dirt. Sadly, she had died at 49, a year before I found her, but I met her brothers and sister and other relatives and concluded I am glad I had been adopted by my wonderful parents.
My birth Father, however, had been incorrectly identified -- until I spat into a container and sent it off to have my DNA extracted. Low and behold, it hadn't been the guy everyone thought it had been. It was a man called William (Billy) Doyle; Nora and Maureen are also his daughters.
I will keep in touch with them and be eternally grateful for their presence in my life. So many genetic mysteries and gifts have now been solved -- like where did all the athleticism come from? And where did my irreverent sense of humour come from?
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Right on cue, a main water main has broken in Calgary. Again. Two years after the first one. WTF?! Apparently, an expensive, state-of-the-art, high tech, fibre-optic acoustic monitoring system was "working normally" when it ruptured. Huh?! How could well-paid experts at city hall say it was "working normally" when it burst? Obviously, it wasn't working normally -- or if it was, they need to get a new "normal" to detect weaknesses and potential leaks.
Pulling back the curtain, I see that all the emergency and water "experts" at city hall are women. Were they DEI hires, à la Brenda Lucki, the hapless former commissioner of the RCMP who effed up every crisis she encountered? Sadly, probably. Leapfrogging women over more qualified men does no one a favour -- especially the women.
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I see that Queen Camilla has spoken about the sexual assault she endured as a teen on a London subway, so I thought I'd re-post mine. When I was 12, Dr. Richard Braden, my orthodontist, assaulted me while I was trapped in his chair. I froze, completely panic-stricken and did nothing. When he released me, I went out to my Mother, who had been waiting in his outer office.
"Isn't Dr. Braden handsome," she oozed, as he greeted her warmly. I said nothing and never told her or anyone else. When I read his obituary, I was tempted to pen my own, but didn't. Afterall, the great Dr. Braden was the Admiral of the Britannia Yacht Club and a pillar of the Ottawa community.
I wondered how many other young girls he had assaulted in his torture chair over the years. When my daughter and step-daughter were young, I warned them many times about, "anyone touching your private parts" -- even the doctor or dentist.
I also suffered what is know as "date rape" -- however, adding "date" to the term makes it sound less criminal. It's rape, plain and simple. This happened when I was invited by my cousin to her boyfriend's cottage. "Bill will be there too, you'll like him, why don't you come along?" So I did. But even though his parents were there, he still attacked me in the dark and, terrified of "making a scene", I did nothing. Again.
A few years later, I met him at a parent/teacher assembly at my children's school -- the famous Rockcliffe Park Public in tony Rockcliffe Park. There he was, preening around as the president and giving us all a speech. After he imparted his wisdom, I approached. "Hi, Bill. Remember me? Remember when you raped me at your parents' cottage?" Surrounded by adoring mothers, he blanched, turned white and took off.
That was a good moment.
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Last evening, for no apparent reason, I called an old friend in Ottawa to wish him a Happy New Year. Flabbergasted, he picked up and we had a great conversation, laughing and tripping down memory lane 45 years after we had first met.
Thank you, François Proulx for your continuing warm friendship. I will not let so many years pass between us again before getting back in touch.
So, all in all, it has been a great Christmas and New Year's here in little, old Cochrane, Alberta!
