"I'm scared and scarred but I've survived"
Tom Wilson was raised in the rough-and-tumble world of
Hamilton--Steeltown-- in the company of World War II vets, factory
workers, fall-guy wrestlers and the deeply guarded secrets kept by his
parents, Bunny and George. For decades Tom carved out a life for himself
in shadows. He built an international music career and became a father,
he battled demons and addiction, and he waited, hoping for the lies to
cease and the truth to emerge. It would. And when it did, it would sweep
up the St. Lawrence River to the Mohawk reserves of Quebec, on to the
heights of the Manhattan skyline.
With a rare gift for storytelling and an astonishing story to tell, Tom
writes with unflinching honesty and extraordinary compassion about his
search for the truth. It's a story about scars, about the ones that hurt
us, and the ones that make us who we are.
From Beautiful Scars
Even as a kid my existence as the son of Bunny and George Wilson seemed
far-fetched to me. When I went over it in my head, none of it added up.
The other kids on East 36th Street in Hamilton used to tell me stories
of their mothers being pregnant and their newborn siblings coming home
from the hospital. Nobody ever talked about Bunny's and my return from
the hospital. In my mind my birth was like the nativity, only with
gnarly dogs and dirty snow and a chipped picket fence and old blind
people with short tempers and dim lights, ashtrays full of Export Plain
cigarette butts and bottles of rum.
Once, when I was about four, I asked Bunny, "How come I don't look
anything like you and George? How come you are old and the other moms
are young?"
"There are secrets I know about you that I'll take to my grave," she
responded. And that pretty well finished that. Bunny built up a wall to
protect her secrets, and as a result I built a wall to protect myself.
