Letter to My adopted Fathehr and a Message for my Biological Father

Readers, have you ever had that parental relationship with your family flooded with resentment, where there was a possibility that even if you spoke up and said you didn’t like a decision they made, they didn’t care? This is the case for Mom and Dad Taurasi. They have been guilty of making many deeper bad decisions than they claim I made. Let’s just have this letter tell you what the decisions were and the impact they all had. Have you also been in a situation where you the college student was slept with by someone who later denied the resulting real live baby? There’s something for that one as well.


Dear Mr. Taurasi,

Throughout your life, you always have to make a decision about something. We all have choices to think of, and each situation is different. You remember that choice begins at toddler years and earlier. Your mother might have asked, “David, do you want the red cup or the blue cup?” Or she might say, “Do you want to wear a blue shirt or a white shirt with that new pair of pants?” Your dad might have asked, “David, do you want a toy airplane for Christmas or do you want a collection of matchbox cars?” Your brother and sisters also had to learn to make basic choices. Toddlers, however, do not make deep decisions based on thought. After all, they are tots and their brains do not develop or do things like an adult brain. When you got older, Dad, you were taught the value of what your choices have on you, those you make the decision for, and others you may have never met. Ever had that situation where Grandpa said, “David, go walk the dog please.” As a young teenager in school, flooded with homework, you could say you thought “No, I don’t wanna walk the dog. I have hours of study to do. I was also invited to a movie with a friend or to a burger stand with my buddies.” You were also asked to do other things, and presented with multitudes of choices. As a high school marching brass member, you had the choice to join. Grammy might have smiled and blushed proudly as you took your first blasted notes on your trumpet, and remembering how Danny practically reminded me of a dying cat the very first time he attempted a simple Mary Had a Little Lamb, your decisions about your playing should have come as no surprise. Remember, however, that Grammy and Grandpa, your parents, still had to bust the bank for your band uniform rental, your band pictures and formal senior portraits, and did you forget you had to make the biggest steps of your life besides? What, then, drove you to decide to then attend the University of Notre Dame? It might have sounded great on paper, but did you ever stop to think that the school cost too much, that it was in South Bend or that you would be sheltered and shielded from the cruelty of the real world? Well, Dad, listen up. It was your call on that, however, it probably did not open you up to the ideas I was exposed to because of Catholic teachings being the way they were at the time. You never saw the existence of gays, lesbians, bisexual and transgendered, queer and ally individuals who currently populate the worled. To you, everybody must abide by traditional marriage rules. Marriage was between a man and a woman. But more so, marriage would later be defined as being between two sighted people of different gender identities. Did you ever stop and ask, well, what about those who are attracted to the same sex persons such as gay and lesbians? How about if I said transgender people exist? Would it ever cross your mind that Notre Dame disrespected your elected government officials due to faith based hogwash? Guess it never did because your family and the family after was Catholic from the cradle, and all you wanted was a faith shaping from childhood through college. Let’s just say you also developed a patriarchal attitude toward a woman who is blind.

Let me ask you something, is love blind? Why on Earth would you marry a woman with a child? You should probably have given it some deep thought. Is it desperate the way Mom wanted it? Oh, sure sounds like it to me. Many single moms of any time period will oftentimes make bad choices about the man they pick based on their desire to put a father in the child’s life. Aunt Cathy did it, so I would say Mom could have done worse. You two did unite in the parenting department, however, it is apparent that your union was a terrible choice for someone who is blind. Let me explain your decisions and why they were tantamount to terrible misdeeds.

First things first, what was really your wish? You wanted a sighted family, a sighted child. You desired for me to know that we live in a sighted world. Well, we live in a world that is not so much sighted, but filled to the brim with people who would not consider the blind in their access and purchase decisions. You included.

In my life, all you saw was a perfect Catholic daughter, but due to blindness, you saw more exploitative opportunities due to musical talent you saw while I played many pianos and other instruments. In your mind, I was the little curiosity shop. You could have sent me to a school for blind children, yes, but maybe you are glad you didn’t. Well, even if you wanted to, you could not have done it with a good conscience. Jennifer Driggers, age 9, died at the facility in Vaille Hall, the multiple handicaps dorm at the time. Christine Edelmann, age 10, died because of her head being in a plastic bag. She suffocated. There were also frequent reports of staff and students in inappropriate intimate postures. Robert J. Sandefur, graduate of a Baptist theological school and doctorate of pastoral studies at Andersenville Theological Seminary which btw is online, that guy went to FSDB during the dark times. He recalls frequent questioning by his parents, gentle if not a bit prodding for his sake, the question including, “Did anyone touch you on your pee pee?” It was needed but look at how backward the poor school has gotten!

Marriage education isn’t so much an educational joke as much as it is a reflection of your choice of the most backwoods part of the country imaginable! There is no comprehensive sex education class offered in most blind schools.

Trenton Matthews, my dear consort for a long while now, testified to me that health education was canceled in the school at Colorado Springs, where he is a graduate. Sadly, for you sighted cronies who believe blind schools are bad, not so much with CSDB. Trenton learned and had better luck with some friends, although getting himself into trouble as well, but hasn’t all of us done that?

What you decided upon, oh my abominable mistrusted father, was this: it started with my desire for a violin. Why oh why, must you have asked, why is my daughter wanting this? You had a wanton desire to send me to Catholic school just because you went there. Does that really mean anything? Let me explain why this decision was bad.

You should have been more investigative in your research into a school like St. Teresa’s School. It had ZERO special services, and you initially would have had to fight as you and Mom had had to do. On top of ZERO services for the blind, this school would not be a good place to learn about real issues affecting OUR nation, not Ireland, not Scotland, not any other place, we must learn about OUR national issues. Instead of a comprehensive health education for only puberty ridden middle schoolers, you have a school teaching second graders what the hell an ovary is. What the hell is this!

I would be glad to tell a young daughter of mine at that age the very very basics, like look, child, your father has a big fat … say it you little scallywag, penis. Do not blush or act all squeamish about it, it’s a damn word we all must learn. And it showed itself when the St. Teresa’s School kids were all gathered together and unable to read the passages about genitalia! How the hell do you cope! Middle schoolers at this stage in my book should be absolutely required to address words like “breast” and “penis” and “vagina” with all the formality of a medical student, and they should know this stuff by heart even when they’re young. Suppose my son comes home molested by a preschool teacher, Mr. Bob. I would ask a prospective son, “Where did Mr. Bob touch you?” If able, he would have to describe the proper wording for that thing between Mr. Bob’s legs, and without any giddy laughter, describe the pain and humiliation he felt at seeing or feeling Mr. Bob’s penis. Your schoolkids at St. Teresa’s were programmed for a marriage only track. Traditional marriage, I’m sad to report, is dead and gone. Face it.

You also had a choice to try a more tolerant state for those with disabilities, and you claim that in high school, I had it all. Wrongo. My band director, we know who he is, did give me the opportunity to be in band, but Mr. Schwindt could not replace the emptiness that you yourself caused by not allowing me to form bonds and relationships outside your Catholic family group. You chose a backdrop to this thoughtless education that contained a backwoods Republican ultraconservative government who hated disabled people’s autonomous existence. Why oh why?

Your thought is only that of a tropical sunset on a beach. Well, given the choice of a day at a beach alone with no friends and only your filthy rich mantras around, and then a lifetime in blissful freedom with Trenton, I am choosing the latter due to your thoughtless task.

We’re closer than ever to deciphering why you can’t think. Your brain is corrupted so far with thoughts of yourself and the boys who make up three and the wife makes four. As the black lamb or ewe in this family, I was treated with more disrespect as the years rolled by. And you fail to ask who would marry or have anything with me besides friendship or a use relationship with exploitative qualities to it. This happened with you. You used me, your daughter, as a glass centerpiece to your other projects. You used my talent so you could just make me swallow the painful truth of your stupid decisions, including what I mention next.

When you got the guardianship, what went through your mind? Three words: I love you. Doesn’t sound like a love to me, but you do not know how to interpret love as it should be. Another three words in your mental screen: who’s the parent. Guess what? Now I am. I’m the one who does my own thing, and if you ever so much as tries to contest marriage based on ability to understand sex, consent to sex, etc., you will lose. I was labeled border line for no reason, and I’m becoming a lot worse off with MHCD and medications that have not arrived. I’m not going to take antipsychotic drugs that limit what you want limited. You had me on mood stabilizers, and you hate birth control, which is not just pregnancy prevention. St. Teresa’s school taught vehemently against birth controls in the form of pills and such, but they taught false and inaccurate information. Catholic schools teach kids only the doctrine, not real education. Education involves forward thinking. The guardianship was not a progressive thought in your mind, in fact it was a bad decision. Look who left and look what was stolen from me as a result of your forceful patriarchal crap toward women! Look at me, young … middle aged man, look here. You aren’t a real man. You made bad choices, but the guardianship took the cake for the worst choice ever. Trent and I are preparing a possible marriage and we’re not backing down, I’ve been informed. If you contest our marriage based on false evidence of “meltdowns” or older test scores that do not matter, you will lose. Fight our marriage, and you will lose yours. Deal?


Dear Mr. C.,

I am here to announce that you’re my dad. Right? Say it, young man. You’re the father of a blind woman. You slept with my mother, right? You knew she was a Catholic woman in a so educated Catholic family, so why on Earth did you two elope in a way like that? You tell me, what is it like to sleep with a pure virgin who later runs off with … your baby, yes, and marries a pile of rock? You deny my existence, and for this, you will pay dearly. I have paid dearly for life because of the disability I was born with, and I have also paid for having an illness or two. I’m forced to pay for my marriage to Trenton Matthews, and he is the only person who gives a crap. If you’re out there, you will do the following: write me a note of apology for your role in creating this mess. You denying my existence is dirty on your conscience, trust me. So to both Dave and Mr. C., you both need to do your homework. Denying my existence will cost Mr. C. his lifeblood and birthrights and all that, and as per the couple responsible for protesting against a simple act of love, you will lose. I am done with these parental figures, and this is the end of life itself.

Another Audition, results, and Blake and I

Another Audition, Results, and … Blake! I Am Here!

Dear Diary,
It is now October, and I’m sorry I haven’t written you in a while. I auditioned for Actors, Models, and Talent for Christ, but was told to do a pre prep workshop before I could perform. Darn it. Honestly, what if they teach me to polish a look? I can’t do that sort of thing if I can’t see myself in the mirror. Ewwwwww. I can’t see myself in the mirror, and that is a bad idea. I’m not in favor of basic modeling, and of course they’d want me to be the very best, but as a blind woman, I can’t make eye contact with the camera. They’ll demand retakes of all my pics, and I’ll never know what they all look like because I can’t see. This is stupid. I can’t see why they’d want me to do modeling and acting, which is both inappropriate for blind people and in the case of modeling, insufficient to let a blind person do what he/she wants. I can’t, for instance, say I’m looking good enough to model for a car company. I can’t do that. I can’t model for people because I don’t believe I’m good looking enough. The Voice rejected me because of blindness, I swear it was blindness. They should have taken me on and allowed me. Also, it was because of my body image and they don’t want that kind of “image” on stage. What if this happens at the pre shine workshop I’m probably gonna register for? What about the Bridge tuition? I need more money for that, and I want to see where this goes. Idk what I’m going to do. I’m just not good looking enough, and as a disabled woman, I’m probably undesirable to a lot of people, except Blake. Blake wants me because it’s my insides, but what do sighted guys want? Looks, looks, looks. I’m not going for that. Envy is a plant that should never be watered. I’m not trying to say I shouldn’t look clean and groomed, but if my body is the way it is, I can’t change it. I can’t get a tummy tuck and plastic surgery because it’s not covered by insurance. My parents might even tell me I can’t walk around in a certain gown and so on. Well, they could tell me no even if I’m 50. So I’m out of their grip, and I”m gonna stay that way. But for Blake, there’s more desire in me. Blake desires me because we’ve both been through hell with family stuff. I can talk about family probs with Blake because he supports me in all ways. Jessie, one of my newest friends, is from Florida, and I’ll have him guard me when my parents walk in to the hotel room. I’ll just have him say, “You’re not welcome. A performer is in this room, and you aren’t allowe4d in.” IF that doesn’t work, I’ll call the front desk and say they’re not welcome guardian or not. I want them gone, out of here, whatever. The only time they can be welcome is if they promise not to take me to Titusville, and they will sign a paper that says they can’t do so. That’ll do it. But what if they disobey the rule? Jessie is blind, and they could just say one thing and do another. I’ve had many people do this to me, say one thing and do another. That drives me nuts. But Jessie is not like that. He’s sweet, but he’s not the sort of guy who could possibly steal me from Blake. We talk, but it’s not like we’re gonna date. I have no interest in dating Jessie, just being friends. I’m setting the record straight. Jessie and I have no interest in anyone seeing text messages and phone calls between each other. That’s bogus. I would not be surprised if a hacker breached my phone and saw the texts from say, Blake. Blake would say, “I love you. Baby, I wanna feel you right next to me.” I’d go, “Oh, baby. ❤ I love you." Blake woulod throw back at me a message or something loving and stuff, and people would see the texts and go, "Ewwwwwwww. Scandalous." But the big thing is, I am not taking nude selfies. I don't want nude selfies to appear online. I would NEVER take such pics. I'm not stupid am I? Cathy would kill Blake for seeing me nude. IF she saw me in the Nude, she'd probably shoot me silly. So, in light of what I'm about to do, in the singing business, I'm warning you all, do not ask me to send you nude pics and so on. Naked pics are not my thing. I don't send any kind of nude pics, I don't want provocative pics either, revealing clothes, etc. I have a much more modest look, and my body is special. Blake doesn't care if I'm fat, thin, or really plump. I'm going to get plump again, so if Blake doesn't desire me, so what. He has to, I will be his wife, and if he doesn't become attracted to me, then what is the point! I would rather have a guy be attracted to what's on the inside. Blake loves all of it, inside and out. All you modeling agencies out there, don't ask me to model sexually provocative Lane Bryant stuff. Ewwwwwwwww. Don't ask me to wear feathered bras, and don't do it to a toddler near where I'm standing. Ew. Yuck.
Ok, rant over. I'm done here. I just am going to pray and hope that the pre shine Bridge thing works good. They've had broken links like hell, and I'm having to offer to help them keep compliance with the ADA since they could find the next Ginny Owens, who is blind. Peace.

My Boring Day

I’m sorry, folks, but I had a rather boring and kind of a sad day. It boggles my mind how anyone could hog the time of the day that I’d rather spend with my boyfriend, and worst of all, it boggles my mind that Rehabilitation agencies can tear this relationship or whatever we call it apart. I have no things against Blake that he can name, but he almost wouldn’t forgive me without force or coercion because I told him I didn’t care for his mother’s grief. Look, her grief is my grief too. Ok, I better flash back a bit and tell you the truth: my boyfriend’s own mother is suffering because her younger son was taken from her in a horrible way. I won’t say who did it or how it happened because I don’t want anyone to say anything.
I was there online with Blake on February 7, this year. Blake and I were talking, and then a phone call came in. Maybe it was God’s grander plan to show us what we were supposed to do that day. Unfortunately, I heard later that Cathy, Blake’s dear mother, was sobbing. Only a mother’s sobs could echo as hers did, and I could make out the words: “Why did you do this to me?” An investigation revealed that her youngest son, a working man in his early twenties, was the victim. Not the person who was also involved. Article coverage revealed two bodies in the house, but poor Blake couldn’t read it. Surprisingly, he only broke down once. But now, cooking is hard for Cathy, and she sometimes asks for her late son, who sometimes is hard to live without. Blake says he will do what he can for his own mother dear, but at least Cathy treated Blake like a treasure. I honestly thought she had the Golden Boy syndrome, where there’s a favorite in the house. That happened to me.

June 30, 2007
I was at a wedding in Boston, rather in Massachusetts. I should tell my readers who was there, and who was getting married. It was my father’s cousin, a guy by the name of Jonathan, and his longtime love, Kristen. Both got married that day, and I had to witness that darned thing in Cohassett. My family drove for a long while to get to the beach where the wedding took place. I had to wear either a spaghetti strap dress, which I felt would make me look like a whore, or the sundress my mom bought for me. No complaint about the dress, but the worst thing that came to me was the way I couldn’t present the wedding gift to Kristen and Jon. I felt like I wasn’t the oldest in the family, and was given too little responsibility due to my disabilities. My parents favored Danny, my younger brother, who would later go on to work for Embraer Jet firm. Lucky dog. Who would present the gifts at my own wedding, I thought? Who will dress me in white? Who will be my groom? The answer would be clear as my life progressed: nobody. I hate that word. Nobody.