“You lived in Tennessee?” I asked my grandmother.
“Oh yes, we lived in five states all over what good did it do me?” She replied.
This was one of those golden nuggets of history I had been wanting to know. I had moved to Midlothian Illinois just a few weeks prior my decision had hinged on solving the mystery that is my father.
My mother and I have always had an open relationship and though I won't say that I do tell her everything I can tell her anything. She's over protective and affectionate. She's not afraid to tell you like it is and let you know when she is disappointed. She is loving and generous and keeps up on the latest tech trends so that she can keep a tabs on everything.
My father on the other hand is quiet, reserved and stoic. His way of saying I love you is by figuring out the minute facts of your life and letting you know he knows them. Like remembering my favorite color is the particular shade of electric blue or knowing that I am deathly afraid of bees. My father says I love you by redecorating your room a million times or by building you a doll house by hand piece by piece. Despite all of that I didn't really know my father. Why had he become this man so vastly different from my mother? Why did everyone say we were so alike and what was it about us that made us so different at the same time? Where did he grow up what had been his favorite foods and why was he so shy and patient?
I wanted to know all those things. When I was about to graduate from college with my bachelors I decided I had to leave Texas. I had no family there after all and I had a few very close friends but I was poor and struggling to make it in that small town. When it came to choosing where to go well the one question I had to answer was “What do I want out for this part of my life?” I could have gone anywhere to save money and get a fresh start. My aunt in California wanted me to come live with them. My friends in Seattle said their parents would love to have me. My grandfather in Arizona said I could have his house. My parents said that they wouldn't mind having me home. The offer to move to the south side of Chicago rang in my ears when I heard it. My grandmother and I wouldn't be what you call close at that point in time. We rarely talked. I hadn't seen her in three or four years and she was close to eighty. There was something there though, a twinge of hope and promise. Something worth knowing and understanding after all this time. I was named for her after all and everyone said our personalities were very similar and she had a direct line of memory to my father. That made the decision for me.
So it was about a week and a half after I moved in. I was still jobless and it was late. We were sitting at the kitchen table going through old photos in a rubermaid container.
“You know I stood at four weddings in two years?” she said to me.
“Really? Was that before you were married?” I asked.
“Yes actually. Can you believe it? A bridesmaid in four weddings in two years.”
“Grandma how old were you when you married grandpa?” I asked knowing that it was a sore subject.
“Twenty-two.” she replied sourly
“Same age as me.”
“Yep same age as you. I was too young I didn't know any better I should have known better.” She said not looking at me still thumbing through pictures.
My grandmother Marilyn had married my grandpa Frank at twenty-two. She didn't have my uncle and my father Mark until she was in her thirties though. My grandparents divorced when my father was fourteen. I think that was in 1976. My grandfather was an Epicurus soul according to my grandma only she wouldn't have said it so nicely. He was a Lothario, a player or a lover women and booze. As I grew older I had come to see that for myself. I didn't know if she had left him or if he had left her. I guess that was a question I would have to ask a while down the line when she trusted me. My grandmother had trust issues. It is easy to see why. I think for all my grandfathers faults she had loved him and he had humiliated her. She never remarried and dated only later in life but still rarely. It hurt me to look at photos of how beautiful she was and to see her at eighty still looking as if she was in her sixties. It hurt me to think of what he had done to her and how hardhearted it had made her. I have to say though that despite all of that she doted on my uncle Craig and my father. She was jealous of any one that would take them from her and for a long time did not completely adore my mother (who is quite easy to adore) out of shear principle. She has always loved us grand kids in her own way. Afraid to give her heart completely afraid we wouldn't love her back.
“Oh yes, we lived in five states all over what good did it do me?” She replied.
This was one of those golden nuggets of history I had been wanting to know. I had moved to Midlothian Illinois just a few weeks prior my decision had hinged on solving the mystery that is my father.
My mother and I have always had an open relationship and though I won't say that I do tell her everything I can tell her anything. She's over protective and affectionate. She's not afraid to tell you like it is and let you know when she is disappointed. She is loving and generous and keeps up on the latest tech trends so that she can keep a tabs on everything.
My father on the other hand is quiet, reserved and stoic. His way of saying I love you is by figuring out the minute facts of your life and letting you know he knows them. Like remembering my favorite color is the particular shade of electric blue or knowing that I am deathly afraid of bees. My father says I love you by redecorating your room a million times or by building you a doll house by hand piece by piece. Despite all of that I didn't really know my father. Why had he become this man so vastly different from my mother? Why did everyone say we were so alike and what was it about us that made us so different at the same time? Where did he grow up what had been his favorite foods and why was he so shy and patient?
I wanted to know all those things. When I was about to graduate from college with my bachelors I decided I had to leave Texas. I had no family there after all and I had a few very close friends but I was poor and struggling to make it in that small town. When it came to choosing where to go well the one question I had to answer was “What do I want out for this part of my life?” I could have gone anywhere to save money and get a fresh start. My aunt in California wanted me to come live with them. My friends in Seattle said their parents would love to have me. My grandfather in Arizona said I could have his house. My parents said that they wouldn't mind having me home. The offer to move to the south side of Chicago rang in my ears when I heard it. My grandmother and I wouldn't be what you call close at that point in time. We rarely talked. I hadn't seen her in three or four years and she was close to eighty. There was something there though, a twinge of hope and promise. Something worth knowing and understanding after all this time. I was named for her after all and everyone said our personalities were very similar and she had a direct line of memory to my father. That made the decision for me.
So it was about a week and a half after I moved in. I was still jobless and it was late. We were sitting at the kitchen table going through old photos in a rubermaid container.
“You know I stood at four weddings in two years?” she said to me.
“Really? Was that before you were married?” I asked.
“Yes actually. Can you believe it? A bridesmaid in four weddings in two years.”
“Grandma how old were you when you married grandpa?” I asked knowing that it was a sore subject.
“Twenty-two.” she replied sourly
“Same age as me.”
“Yep same age as you. I was too young I didn't know any better I should have known better.” She said not looking at me still thumbing through pictures.
My grandmother Marilyn had married my grandpa Frank at twenty-two. She didn't have my uncle and my father Mark until she was in her thirties though. My grandparents divorced when my father was fourteen. I think that was in 1976. My grandfather was an Epicurus soul according to my grandma only she wouldn't have said it so nicely. He was a Lothario, a player or a lover women and booze. As I grew older I had come to see that for myself. I didn't know if she had left him or if he had left her. I guess that was a question I would have to ask a while down the line when she trusted me. My grandmother had trust issues. It is easy to see why. I think for all my grandfathers faults she had loved him and he had humiliated her. She never remarried and dated only later in life but still rarely. It hurt me to look at photos of how beautiful she was and to see her at eighty still looking as if she was in her sixties. It hurt me to think of what he had done to her and how hardhearted it had made her. I have to say though that despite all of that she doted on my uncle Craig and my father. She was jealous of any one that would take them from her and for a long time did not completely adore my mother (who is quite easy to adore) out of shear principle. She has always loved us grand kids in her own way. Afraid to give her heart completely afraid we wouldn't love her back.
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