The Day I Discovered My Dad Is A Spy

As an anarchistic and curious critter, I question a lot of things- especially authority. Is that true for you too?

I'm remembering a very important day- the day I DISCOVERED MY DAD IS A SPY and how that shaped my curious nature forever.

He was a secretive federal agent who held a tight lid on his outward expressiveness. He wore a khaki trench coat to work, carried a gun on every flight we ever took together and had a special dispatch radio in his car. He had me very curious.

There's still a photograph of this somewhere...

The day I discovered my Dad was a Spy, I was bored and had a broken arm (again). My Dad was sorting through his old treasure chest that held his memories-yearbooks, love letters and childhood toys and I was zeroed in on a stack of manila folders sitting on a barrel beside his bed. I picked up the stack while he was distracted and I couldn't believe what I had found inside.

Frame after frame of dangerously close and candid photos of Russian and Chinese looking men in expensive suits, building entrances and long sleek black cars shifted around the open folder. I asked him about these and he abruptly said that it was none of my business. I insisted that he tell me what I was looking at but all he said was: "These are photos I've taken for work, the FBI". That wasn't enough, so I stared at him until he said: "I SPY ON SPIES and that's all I can say".

I started crying. Teary eyed, I got to see his handguns and held them as a consolation. One was very old and the other two were more modern models. I was intrigued. My indirect questioning style earned me knowledge of what the dummy in the closet upstairs in the hallway was for-target practice. This weird thing that had always scared the shit out of me just sitting in our closet with a ski mask covering it's basketball for a head was suddenly revealed as a work thing. We had a memorable day together and I finally felt close to my Dad.

Days passed and I asked him more questions. He stopped answering me when I boldly asked: "HAVE YOU EVER KILLED ANYONE?". The questions were over at that point...

UNTIL THE ALIEN CONVERSATION:

He told me ALIENS ARE REAL one night after he had been drinking rum and coke.

"Sure they're real. when they communicate, you can see their mind in the sky above them, like a movie screen. They don't need to speak."

I STARTED TO WANT TO BE A SPY TOO but he grew distant from me soon after this can of worms opened up and our communication withered away. I recognize it as a Stockholm Syndrome- aligning himself to his internal suppressors.

He died in 1998 of brain cancer. At his memorial service, I heard some vague stories of his involvement with Bin Laden in 1991, but nothing conclusive which drove me nuts.

Ultimately, I learned how much I value my curiosity and that I have a deep need to know details about my world, which is a beautiful thing. I want to offer this: we need to nurture our curiosity and be unwilling to accept the limitations offered us. Because if we don't, we'll always have a wall between ourselves and those who truly care. Thank you for reading my story.