Fast forward to 2003. My parents' alcoholism subdued over time. I grew up and became a bit less fragile. I was in high school, just about to graduate and I had read La Sagouine and Mariaagelas so I even thought that having a bootlegging uncle was pretty cool, a piece of acadian folklore in the family, a character straight out of a book for a teen who already wants to write books.

And that ol’ Raymond had a book character’s death, just like in those movies he liked so much. One fateful day in june of 2003, he went to his cabin in the woods to observe birds with his binoculars that he called “pirate binoculars” and was found dead in the woods, just a few minutes later, on the same weekend I graduated high school.

And just like in a movie, on the morning of the funeral, a man of my family who had slept over at our house got up. He spoke without any trace of anger, as dignified as a prince and finally addressed the elephant in the room. No “you knows”, no rumours dropped here, as opaque as UFOs stories.

-”Raymond raped me”.

That was the sound of the floodgates opening. Two more men of my family admitted being Raymond’s victims. Some rumors een speak of child pornography film with that same camcorder he filmed our christmas parties with.

And yet, as late as 2010, I would say “Uncle Ray did horrible things, but he was a pretty cool guy.”

Ugh...