Family Secrets: When Buried Treasures Come to Light

Reflections by Mikael Wagner

Almost every family has a story nobody talks about. Sometimes we know there is a secret because everyone suddenly becomes quiet when a certain name is mentioned. Sometimes an old photograph appears, and nobody seems willing to explain who the person standing in the corner might be. Often, there is a relative we have heard about but never met. Other times, we don't discover the secret until years later, when the people who could have explained it are no longer here. It goes without saying, families are complicated. They are filled with love, laughter, traditions, arguments, disappointments, jealousy, celebrations and memories. It goes without saying, all families tend to carry secrets. Some are harmless, painful, and some are buried so deeply that one generation believes the secret will disappear with them, but it rarely does. Eventually, someone starts asking questions. As a young boy, I asked questions about everything. My mother and her eleven brothers and sisters would roll their eyes and go quiet. That made me even more curious to keep digging and annoying them for the truth.

Not every family secret begins with bad intentions. Sometimes people keep secrets because they believe they are protecting younger members of the family. A parent may hide a painful chapter of their life because they don't want their children to experience the same hurt. A grandparent may refuse to discuss something that happened decades ago because talking about it brings back memories they would rather forget. Families may hide divorce, adoption, financial problems, addiction, abuse, infidelity, illness, estrangement, incarceration, questions about parentage, or relationships that previous generations considered unacceptable. Other family secrets may involve racism, prejudice, discrimination, poverty, war, migration or traumatic experiences that people simply didn't know how to talk about. Sometimes people remain silent because that’s what their generation was taught to do. So many secrets can travel through a family for generations, but silence does not necessarily erase a story. It simply leaves someone else to discover it. "Sometimes people hide the truth because they are afraid of what it might change."

Is it possible for a secret to become a burden? Keeping something private and keeping something secret are not always the same thing. Granted, we are all entitled to privacy. But a secret becomes more complicated when maintaining it requires people to lie, avoid questions, change stories, exclude family members or ask others to participate in the silence. Then the secret can become larger than the event itself. In my family, I would notice that one person knows, then another person is told, someone else suspects, and then someone asks a question. Before long, an entire family may be quietly protecting something nobody is supposed to mention. The burden isn't always the secret itself. Sometimes the burden is everything people have to do to keep it hidden.

As a curious young boy, I learned early to listen closely while playing with my toys under the table as my aunts and uncles had serious conversations. Afterwards, I would always ask questions so I could understand what they were talking about. My family was mostly from Jeanerette, New Iberia, Lake Charles and the New Orleans area in Louisiana, and most of them were fluent in speaking French Creole but wouldn't teach it to the young children. When you pretend not to listen long enough, certain words start to make sense. They learned to be careful of discussions when I was in the room. They had a saying that always made them laugh, "Les petitis pots ont grandes oreilles", which means little pitchers have big ears. I remember always looking at the pictures hanging on the walls and wondering if they had ears. Usually, after that, I was told to go outside and play with my cousins, no matter how hard I tried to eavesdrop. 

We can inherit more than someone's eyes, smile or family name. Sometimes we inherit their silence. Children notice more than adults realise. They are usually clever enough to know when conversations suddenly stop. They notice when one relative never attends family gatherings and wonder why. Children may also notice when certain photographs of family members are missing. They also notice when asking a perfectly reasonable question receives an unreasonable response that may sound like anger. Eventually, children become adults and start looking through family photographs, reading old letters if they find them, searching public records or talking with other relatives in hopes of building a family tree and discover the truth. Today, many people are taking DNA tests to satisfy their curiosity. A secret that might have once remained hidden for generations can now be challenged by a database, a family match, or a notification on someone's phone. Whether you believe in these tests is totally up to you. Reports suggest someone may discover a sibling they never knew existed or that a parent may not be their biological parent. A family story believed throughout their life may be incomplete. Or an unanswered question that followed them for decades may finally have an answer. Do you think it's possible for technology to change the meaning of a family secret? The question is no longer simply, "Can we keep this hidden?" It may now be: "What happens when someone finds out?"

Discovering a family secret can produce complicated emotions. There may be anger, confusion, betrayal, relief, sadness and even compassion. Someone may ask, "Why didn't you tell me?" Another may wonder, "Who else knew?" And the most painful question is, "What else haven't I been told?" Discovering a family secret can change the way we view other parts of our family history. Learning something new about our past does not automatically erase everything we once believed. A parent who may have kept something from us may still have loved us deeply. A grandparent who refused to discuss the past may have been carrying pain we never understood. Someone may have made decisions many years ago based on the values, pressures, fears, and limited choices available at the time. Understanding those circumstances doesn't require us to excuse harmful behaviour, but it can help us see the people in our family as human beings rather than characters in a family story. We may never completely know why previous generations remained silent.

After years of pondering so many questions that were never answered, I finally realised I had to let go. All of my aunts and uncles obviously made a pact to take any negative family histories to their graves, and indeed they all did. I would like to believe that at least some of what was hidden was meant to protect their children from pain and harassment. Granted, sometimes what we discover can be beautiful. For example, an old box in the attic or hidden in a garage may contain love letters between grandparents. A photograph may introduce us to a relative whose story was nearly forgotten. A military record may reveal an act of courage nobody ever discussed. A recipe written in someone's handwriting can suddenly transport us back into a kitchen we thought we had forgotten. It's one of the reasons I love preparing some of my mother's favourite meals. They always bring me lots of joy and happiness. Often, I can feel her presence teasing me from times when I was a nosey little boy. Even an old newspaper clipping may show us something remarkable a parent accomplished before we were born. Almost daily, I would ask my mother if our postman was my father because we had the same name. She never answered me directly but said, "He is such a nice, handsome man who plays with the children in the neighbourhood, and I loved his name, so I gave it to you." My main question was never answered. It didn't stop me; I wanted to know what happened to my father and who my father was. As always, she would smile and tell me to go outside and play or get ready for lunch as she braided the switch. I learned to behave and to do as I was told. A switch, used for punishment, is a thin, flexible tree branch or twig stripped of its leaves, used to give my siblings and me a clear message.

Would you prefer to know a family secret? Being told a secret can feel like an honour, but it can also feel like a burden. Suddenly you are carrying information that isn't entirely yours. Before repeating it, we should ask ourselves:

• Why was I told?

• Was I given permission to share it?

• Who could be harmed if I tell someone else?

• Who would be harmed if I remain silent?

• And is someone's safety at risk?

Apparently, not every secret should be repeated. But not every secret should be protected either, particularly when secrecy is being used to conceal abuse, exploitation, violence, or danger. There is a difference between respecting someone's privacy and protecting harmful behaviour. Knowing the difference is not easy, but it matters. A key question is: "Are we prepared to learn something that may permanently change the way we understand our family?" Once we know something, it's difficult to unknow it. Curiosity sometimes comes with responsibility.

Families are not museums filled with beautiful objects. Families are more like old houses. Some rooms are bright and welcoming while others are dark. Some have been renovated, or doors haven't been opened in years. Occasionally, we may discover something hidden in a cupboard or tucked away in the attic or basement that changes what we thought we knew about family members. It's an opportunity to learn more. Not long ago, I found letters from one of my cousins whom I loved very much. He was like a brother to me. I can still remember when he was drafted to serve in the Vietnam War, and I ran down to volunteer so that we could be together. To my disappointment, I was denied because my older brother had joined before me and being the only son left at home, I was rejected. I still remember crying every day thinking about him. His letters to me were frightening when I read how badly the soldiers risking their lives for America were treated. When he finally returned home from war, he was a different person. He was a man, and I was still a boy. Our intimate conversations helped me understand the world around me, including the racism and discrimination people of colour were experiencing in America. He helped prepare me for realities I would eventually encounter myself. To this day, I miss him so much, and sometimes I can still hear his laughter.

The older I become, the more I understand that family history is rarely a perfectly told story. There will always be missing pages, different versions, names we may not recognise, and questions nobody thought to ask. Often, chapters have been deliberately removed to protect someone. Apparently, there are treasures to be found too, such as stories of courage, sacrifice, love, survival, humour, and forgiveness. You may discover people who made difficult choices so another generation could have opportunities they never had. Perhaps we discover our family history isn't about judging every decision made before we arrived. Maybe it's about knowing our history and what influenced the people who raised us. Lately, for some reason, I have many questions about who I am today, and the tools used to instil confidence, honesty, kindness, integrity, and resilience in that little red-headed boy to make him the man he is today. It's a big decision to decide which stories deserve to be shared or carried forward, and which patterns should end with us. Every family leaves something behind. Sometimes it's a secret. Sometimes it's a treasure. We won't know which one it is until we open the box.