When I was younger, I hid the facts that I was from a ghetto, that I lived with a single caretaker (my aunt) and that we were on AFDC (the dole, welfare, whatever you call it). I also kept secret that my cousin (her son) went to prison when I was 16. I was completely ashamed of my familial circumstances for many years. I thought they and their criminality/mental illnesses/general low-class behavior reflected on me and that “decent” people would shun me because of them.
Now, my guardian, OTOH, was so utterly ashamed of how I came into being and the circumstances which got me placed in her care, she made me keep my parentage a secret. I’m not sure if anyone really believed I was her daughter, but no one ever questioned her.
By the time I left for uni, I was so indoctrinated that it was to stay a secret, I didn’t tell anyone about it until my relationship with 2nd bf when I was 21. He was the only bf who’d met my aunt and he asked me why I didn’t look much like her. I told him everything. I ended up dumping him, anyway, so I learned that the past didn’t matter to most people, and to the ones where it would, well, they aren’t worth my time or concern.
I still feel somewhat guilty for not keeping things like this a secret anymore, like I’m betraying them. But I’m not. These are the facts. If I ever get to be a known person and these facts are made extremely public knowledge, and they get angry with me? Then I guess they’ll have to man up and take responsibility for the choices they’ve made. I don’t know what else to say about that.
And yet, I really relate to Don Draper’s character on Mad Men. A lot.