The Real Wesley J

The truth is stranger than fiction. At least that’s the old cliché. I’ve always believed that to be only partially true. I guess it depends on what truth and what fiction you’re talking about.

The other day when someone calling himself “Wesley J” commented on my blog, my first reaction was to take it at face value. I was confused by the vile, crude, illiterate nature of the comments. Knowing the real Wesley, I had not expected that type of response. On the other hand, I had never seen any of Wesley’s writing so even though he has always seemed intelligent, maybe it just didn’t translate to the written page. There are many extremely intelligent people who are simply cursed when it comes to reading and writing. Unable to convey the witty thoughts “forming in their brain”, they are limited to the basest form of human communication. Threatened by their clearly inadequate literary skills, they must resort to homophobic derision and name calling.

Of course, when the real Wesley stepped forward and explained that I had been duped, the fake comments made sense. Wesley’s explanation was articulate, like I would have expected.

However, the fact that the prank was engineered in the way it was shows the perpetrator is an intelligent person, which I can verify now that I have finally figured out who it is. Although there will never be the remotest hint of it in his writing, this is one of the smartest people I've ever encountered. I’d venture this is one of the few true geniuses I know. To hide behind my psyche undetected like that. Whew. Wait until I tell you who it is!

Before I continue I must warn you. “Wesley J” is tricky. This story has a few parts that I’ll unveil over the next few days. In between, there may be comments from “Wesley J”. They may persuade you that my conclusion is false. But I make this promise. After I’ve shown you who he is, there will be no doubt.

I’ve known the person now calling himself “Wesley J” since I was 14 years old. I met him the year I despised myself more than any other. When I turned 15, I said to myself,
“That was the worst year of my life. I doubt there will be any that bad again ever.”



So far, it’s true. After a bitter painful divorce when I was in my early 30's, and the ensuing extreme poverty, I can honestly say the joyless 14th year of my life was the worst ever. I was unhappy all year. Some call it growing pains or puberty. All I know is I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be me. It was during that summer that I met “Wesley J” and we immediately became best friends.

But to talk about that, I have to talk about the comment of “Wesley J’s” that gave it away. Like I said, I know the guy. Even though we are now sworn enemies, he was most likely bored with my sorely inadequate guesses as to his true identity, so he threw me a bone when he lied and said he was in New Mexico. Only "Wesley J" and I will ever know what that truly means. But I'll let you in on as much as I dare.


Eleven months out of the year, my dad worked hard. He’d scrimp and save to put away enough cash for a big annual family vacation. These were great. Usually something big like Disney World!

On this particular year we were going to go to Florida for some fun and sun. At least that was the plan. However, my grandma had a dying brother who lived far, far away. My grandma never drove a car. At this time, she was about 65 years old. She was resigned to never seeing her brother alive again. My dad decided it would be nice if we modified our vacation plans so Grandma could see her brother. As it turned out, this change resulted in one of the most memorable vacations we ever had. At the time, there were 5 in our family. We had a 1972 Chevy Nova with no Air conditioning. We were going to be taking Grandma with us. We were also going to take my aunt (mom’s sister-german [ sic ]) with us because she would like to see some of her uncles/cousins-german [ sic ] as well (look it up. I just learned it today and wanted to use it). So with seven people, the Nova wasn’t going to cut it.

So my dad bought a big huge Ford Custom 500. It was the first car I ever saw that ran on “unleaded fuel”. It was roomy enough for all seven of us to ride in comfort to our ultimate vacation destination. The place relevant to the tale of "Wesley J". Because you see, my grandma’s brother, Marion, was dying of emphysema. On the suggestion of his doctor, he had moved himself and his family to the dry climate of Farmington, New Mexico. The hint “Wesley J” left for me in his last comment. Oh, he doesn’t live there anymore. He tends bar at an island resort. But he used to live there. Oh did I mention my great uncle’s last name? It was … Keeler!

(To be continued. Or not)