5 May 2012
More than one reader has accused me of using a pen name to hide my true identity. I assure you this is not the case. My name is Wright Forbucks and I am proud to be Wright Forbucks. Damn proud.
My lineage can be traced to 1917 when my grandmother, Blight Murphy, a strange woman who claimed her grandparents were killed in the Potato Famine of 1846, arrived in the United States from Ireland. Shortly thereafter, at a Boston tavern noted for selling discount stale ale, Blight met my grandfather, a Scottish penny pincher named, Tight Forbucks. Tight’s first son was my dad, Flight Forbucks. Flight was an airplane mechanic; he worked for Orville Wright, my namesake. Unfortunately, my dad was injured in a propeller accident at age twenty-three, a year after marrying my Mom, Plight Forbucks, a Red Cross nurse. Growing up I never knew may dad. He lived in our house but “the accident” destroyed the part of his brain responsible for personality, so his communication was limited to groaning. A high-pitched groan meant he needed food. A low-pitched groan meant he needed a service that led to my siblings: my eldest sister Slight Forbucks, woman so thin she could hide behind a birch tree; my brother Bright, a MIT particle physicist; my look-alike, Smite, a shameless defense contractor; my inane little sis Trite; and my soft-drink addicted bro Sprite.
Readers may continue to assert that Wright Forbucks and his family are fictitious. In response, I steadfastly maintain that we are as real as the sustained groan my father still emits whenever he reads one of my books 🙂