Myth-ing the Truth

This story is by Patrick Cole and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Her final words stung like a wasp discovered inside my shirt. She said, “I will always love the man I thought you were, but I realize now I’ve never known who you really are.”  That hurt and made me wonder if I really knew who I really was.

I wasn’t born in Bethlehem of Jewish parents who thought I was God’s gift to the world. No, much better than that, I was born in the good ole USA as an Irish American, raised by Irish Americans, who were proud to have voted for John F. Kennedy and knew I could follow JFK’s footsteps all the way to the White House.

As a kid, parents and grandparents told me I was a lucky full-blooded Irishman and a descendant of the Vikings too. My lineage was rich with heroic deeds and derring-do. They told me I was named after a larger-than-life, adventurous great-great grandfather and was clearly destined to be a very important person in whatever field I chose. They said I could be anything, be the best at that thing. and they challenged me to outperform them because they were watching, counting on me to fulfill our family destiny, and, and, and …. yes, the American Dream was extra special in our blue-collar household.  Dad often said, “You could be president someday!”

Their gift of social-climbing predestination was so powerful it drove me to learn as much as I could; to explore all possible futures before I chose the right one for me. And they reminded me that I could overcome any obstacle I might encounter and, most importantly, I should not associate with any people who chose not to pursue their greatness.

I recall the first time I heard the statement, “It’s hard to be an eagle when you’re surrounded by turkeys” and realized that this could be our family motto. Or in their words, “Don’t hang with losers, they’ll just bring you down.”

Elementary school was the first competitive arena where I found it easy to complete classwork, pass tests and impress teachers. I loved school where I received regular reminders of how smart I was and how much potential I had.

In Middle and High School, I discovered girls, or they discovered me, I’m still not sure how relationships work, and all that romantic stuff was like kryptonite; it was an addictive distraction that just got in the way of my path to greatness. It seemed that just when things were going great for me some girl would bat her eyes or start crying or take her top off. Damn, that was hard to ignore.

Later I encountered some Jesus freaks who offered even more suggestions on how I could be a hero and substitute messiah. Holy moly, what a diversion that turned out to be, yet it taught me that stories could be powerful, especially if you infused them with smooth-talking persuasion. Add a little guitar strumming and campfire singing and the goo-goo eyes were mesmerizing. Kumbaya little darlings.

Of course, I went off to Notre Dame to fulfill my resume’ as a Fightin’ Irishman. But time passed and the rent was due again, I needed more reliable transportation, and the list went on so I changed my college major from history to business.

It turned out I could climb the corporate ladder while waiting for my Viking ship to come in. One promotion followed another which led to a lot of business travel which provided even more opportunities to revisit favorite daydreams I had earlier in life. Unfortunately, a successful business career also led to a series of broken relationships and this latest failure stopped me in my tracks.

I decided to do find out who I really was. In addition to personal therapy, I did some genealogy research which covered seventeen generations and over 500 hundred years of related birth, death and marriage records.

We are all the creation of our mothers and fathers and their mothers and fathers over many generations and geographies.  My paternal lineage records went back to the year 1450 in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Maternal records went back to the year 1780 in Basingstoke, Hampshire, England and my first ancestors to be born in North America arrived in New Amsterdam (aka New York City) in 1639.

SURPRISE! Facts don’t always support a family myth, but they sometimes reveal other truths.

The first thing I discovered was I wasn’t all Irish, in fact I was more Dutch than anything. Maybe the Vikings were involved in my heritage somewhere in the past, but I couldn’t find any records to prove it since their reign ended somewhere around the year 1066.

Secondly, I found that I didn’t share a first name with any great grandfather but there was one ancestor who used my first name as an alias.  He was a trigamist who traveled across the Canadian and U.S. borders dodging familial and financial responsibilities. There was another great-great who was a British spy in Connecticut during the Revolutionary War. He escaped hanging by fleeing to Ontario, Canada where he lived to the ripe old age of 105. So much to be proud of, right? Yet, “cutting and running” might have something to say about maintaining intimate relationships.

I realized that I lived most of my life as a successful white collar business executive thinking I was a proud Irish American outperforming my ancestors, as they desired. However, this “personal success” was based on a family myth that wasn’t totally accurate. If not for digitized historical records, I may never have learned the difference between facts and family lore.

I may have another intimate relationship in the future, but I’ve found it both helpful and humbling to learn more about who I really am. I’ve learned that I’m not better or more special than others and in some way we’re all broken people. I’ve learned it’s more about gratitude and less about destiny.

Here’s to less daydreaming and paying more attention to the quality of my current relationships. Instead of focusing on a fanciful past or future, I will be giving more emphasis to the here and now and the people I’m fortunate enough to have in my life today.

Who knows, maybe my next intimate relationship will last.