This is how life is rolling these days at the Dumoulin house...
Last week, I went to 7 doctors appointments. One for Ethan, one for Lily and 5, yes, 5 for me.
Ethan's appointment was to confirm no additional complications from a marathon viral infection that lastest 12 days, missing 6 days of school. This week he is finally recovering some of his energy he lost from a constant fever for that long. He has just stopped falling asleep mid-day, yet still has a random cough that produces gags. He is slowly returning to normal.
Lily's appointment was in Greensboro with her pediatric opthamologist. She will have eye surgery sometime in the next month for her accomodating esotropia. Her very strong glasses are not fully correcting her vision issues, so they will cut the muscle to tighten it. This procedure is done at a day surgery center and lasts about 20 minutes. I believe there is some discomfort the first day or two and then a week of a bloody looking eye, reminiscient of the worst pink eye you have seen. Poor Lily.
My situation was a little more complicated, but the results were very positive. I had an MRI and mammogram and an appointment with my OB-GYN all in the same day (3 appointments right there). Talk about being exposed, poked, and prodded. I felt just one step away from porn status, really. As usual with my situation, I am declaring war with my insurance company over the MRI which is recommended by every medical board with my life-time risk of breast cancer being over 20%. It is actually 26%, but when you get over 20% does it really matter? Regardless, they won't cover it, which means $1,400 out of pocket for me each and every time. Aren't they gems?
The remaining two appointments were because they found some area of concern on my MRI. This the third time this has happened. Their recommendation was to biopsy the area assisted by MRI. After the procedure I was sent for another mammogram to note the location of an injected clip. The clip is used to mark where they collected the tissue. All very heavy and all very irritating at the same time. Not too emotional this go around, but more like, why is this happening again? At what point will I not have any tissues left to take? My MRI tech was quite a "McDreamy" making it all very interesting to be sitting there with the front of my gown open, exposing one side. However, my doctor pretty much destroyed that enjoyment by squeezing my boob as if checking to see if the melon were ripe...right in front of him. To be more accurate, I should say squeezing like a peach, as she tried to control the bleeding of the biopsy entry point. Nothing says "hot" like having steri-strips and neosporin gooped on the side of you, while incoherently saying you are fine with a gigantic red mark on your forehead from laying face down on your stomach for 30-45 minutes. The bottom line and fantastic news is that the results were negative for anything cancerous. Now, I just need to decide how much it is worth to continue with these "recommended" tests. I am also reconsidering genetic testing although that isn't fool-proof either.
Ethan is running for student council, thinking about a hip hop dance class and participating in Cotillion. For those not in the south, Cotillion is a class that teaches manners, etiquette, and basic dance skills. Ironically, we were 30 minutes late to the first class as I wrote the time down incorrectly. Who is late for a class on etiquette? The Dumoulins.
The hip hop dance thing is unsettling to me. I know I am being ridiculous, but sometimes I just live in the 19th century, ok? He even said he was ok with taking jazz or tap if he had to as he might "enjoy" that. Gosh, I hope he really wants to do this because he knows he can meet some girls. Either way, as this "interest" sinks in, we will play the waiting game on exploring our options.
We, meaning Ethan, resumed morning swim practices today. I am most thrilled to report that our gracious coach has delayed the start of practice by 15 minutes. Now, I only have to have Ethan at the Sports Center at 5:15 am instead of 5:00 am. Nice. Wake-up time is an easy 4:45...still considered to be the night before, not this morning by me. When I returned home at 8 am, I had taken Ethan to practice, worked-out (translation: walked on a treadmill for 30 minutes at 3.5), made a run to Wal-Mart (NO ONE is at Wal-Mart at 6:15 am), grabbed a cup of coffee at Chik-fil-a, picked Ethan back up and hauled him to school. Of course, he left his gym clothes in the car which meant another trip to the school. However, I thought my productivity prior to 8 am was pretty admirable considering I can easily sleep until 9:30 or 10 am on weekends. Deep down, could I be a morning person? No. It is all because I love my son. It is now 12:30 pm as I type this and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Did I say how much I love my son? By the way, it was a first for me to go into a Wal-Mart while it was dark, only to exit when it was getting light. I thought people only did that when they went to bars in Europe.
Lily has taken to shouting out random math problems throughout the day. Yesterday afternoon, as she lounged on our oversized chair in the kitchen, she announced that 700 plus 600 equals 1300. Cuddling up with me before bed, she did a borrowing subtraction problem with 3-digit numbers out loud, without paper. If you don't know what that is, I think it was something like 318-189=129. She is nutso over math and I do not get it at all.
What other ridiculousness is going on our family, you ask? Well, homeschool, of course. How does one homeschool when at at doctor's office more than her own house? Well, she doesn't. Complete fail last week for the most part. Here's another eye opener...using the instructor's manual is actually a helpful thing when teaching math. Sometimes I wonder how my children know anything. For the first time in our brief homeschooling journey, I have given up on a curriculum choice for one of my girls. The bible course I used with Sadie during 3rd grade is just too difficult for Lily. Words like attributes, polytheism, and atheist are not ones Lily can retain. At. all. Time to do some research. Today we had some success with two little experiments in science. One was throwing marbles in bowls of flour to demonstrate how craters are made and the impact they have on a planet's surface. The other was melting butter to pour over custard bowl which was covered in four. This was to mimic a volcanic eruption. The key part to this was that when the butter cools, it hardens up a bit like the lava does when it cools.
I have found that here is little substitute for the retention of information than hands-on study and/or video enforcement. To compliment our study of Australia, our family watched a great documentary about Australia Saturday morning. The kids squawked a bit through it and I threatened to give them a pop quiz. Afterall, I am the teacher. I can do that sort of thing. In the end though, we all learned a lot and each child could give me 2-3 different facts about Australia. Netflix has become our greatest ally in this type of teaching. Once we complete our notebook section on Australia, they might be ready to go eat some vegemite! Next up...AFRICA in our semester of World Geogrpahy! I have about 6 movies in the queue. That will probably send them over the edge.
As I down my third cup of caffiene today, I wonder how I will get anything else done. The projects just keep piling up and home maintenance keeps getting shoved farther and farther down the list. My view is that if God wanted me to get them done, then He would give me the time. Right?
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, April 05, 2010
Easter 2010
Church was especially uplifting. Our church became command central for the tornado recovery efforts that effected the surrounding neighborhoods. We fed some 1,800 people over this past week. Crazy. I don't know how all that food and all those people came, got fed, coordinated, organized, etc. But, it did! As our pastor said today, "What a real way to put into practice service. What an incredible opportunity God provided for us to love our community." The music just rocked and well, it was teary for me.
After arriving home, Jay and I decided we would take a nap. The kids went outside to play. About an hour later, I got up. Ethan and Sadie had changed into bathing suits and were playing with the hose. Sadie found the biggest mud puddle, of course, and I am sure the bathing suit she was sporting is ruined. I looked around for Lily and didn't see her. I started to get a little concerned when I saw her asleep on the trampoline, or champoline as she calls it. Ahhh, the joys of living on 10 acres and not having to worry about neighbors who think you have abandoned your kids and who might call DSS.
Dinner was spent with my dad and stepmom. It was a little challenging as the kids were still pretty hyped up on sugar. However, nothing beats being able to sit outside for dinner in April when your kids are climbing the walls, spilling their waters and trying to show off their moves for an upcoming Grandparent's Day program at school.
My beautiful blessings!
Oh! Happy Day!
The greatest day in history, Death is beaten
You have rescued me
Sing it out, Jesus is alive
The empty cross, The empty grave
Life eternal You have won the day
Shout it out Jesus is alive
He's alive!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Restored
As a belated birthday gift, I took my grandmother to the O'Henry Hotel in Greensboro for their afternoon tea service. It is just my grandmother's sort of thing and well; I really like it, too. I invited my only aunt, Sue, to join us because I thought it would just be fun to have three generations of my family there. We never get together, just the three of us.
I sat listening to my grandmother reminisce over a time when she and my grandfather had tea every afternoon when they were on an anniversary trip to the Greenbrier Hotel. Afternoon tea and my grandfather really don't belong in the same sentence, but my grandmother said he sat there, participating like it was something he had done his entire life. I have no doubt he hammed it up with a little pinky lift, too. The thought makes me smile.
I took a moment to soak in the picture before me. My grandmother, my aunt and I. How God has worked in each of our lives. You see, this isn't an event I would have thought a likely scenario say 15 years or so ago. And, as recently as this summer, I figured that most of my memories with my grandmother were already made.
Life has a funny way of putting distance between family. Actually, it isn't life and it isn't funny. Specifically with my relationship with my aunt, I am not sure why the relationship wasn't always on solid ground during the earlier part of my life. Different life phases, careers, school, interests? Misinterpreted statements, misconstrued circumstances. We never really had a bond or connection. I don't know that I will ever get my finger pinpointed on it. However, like a testimony, life before Christ should never be the focus...it is the incredible transformation of life with Christ - you know, the good stuff, that really matters.
I can say without a hesitation that I love my aunt. Sure, it was always there is some form, maybe only because she was family. But, God has worked what can only be described as a miracle in both of our lives in the latter parts of our years. Perspectives have changed; worldly matters that consumed us have been taken away and the loss of my precious sister have factored into it. In place of these things, I believe a softness and compassion for God now resides which trickles down to how we view each other. I have been given a chance to see and experience her heart and I praise God for that. She is one of the most incredible women I know. Smart, funny, thoughtful and compassionate - she has so many incredible qualities that I never knew. Maybe they were always there, but as I grow in my walk with Christ, I see them. They are shining. I am amazed at how God has so quickly and without any hubbub or therapy fully restored this relationship as if it has always been. I am a teensy sad I didn't have all of this earlier, however I am more thrilled to have it for the rest of my life.
It shouldn't go without mentioning that she is a master gardener - the absolute coolest garden I have ever had the pleasure of visiting - cool, funky garden houses, a green house made of old windows, hideaway seating areas, nooks and crannies that keep you poking around for days. To top it all off, she and my uncle are organic farmers, grow a vineyard, have chickens and the two largest, and possibly the most spoiled goats of all time. Years of managing a furniture store have also given her incredible design skills and an eye for the unusually whimsical. I can't even begin to describe her unconventional, yet totally hip house. What more could you wish for in an aunt?
Regarding my grandmother, I have missed quite a few years with her as well. This occurred most recently as she was the primary caregiver for my grandfather during his 10-year run with Alzheimer's. I never held any grudges - of course not. I just missed having her as a constant in my life. During this time, I always knew she had some misgivings about not really knowing my children and about missing out on the important events in our lives. But, it was what life had dealt her and her dedication to my grandfather was beyond admirable. It was a perfect picture of what God asks of us when we say our wedding vows.
After my grandfather passed away in August, I wondered how my grandmother would pick herself up and start living again. Inwardly, I wondered if she wouldn't quickly pass of a heart, broken and grief-stricken. After all, she was married to my grandfather for 67 years. Yet, she has managed to not only move forward, but to have moments of true enjoyment. I hope that our excursion to tea was one of them. I think it was as she savored each morsel of goodies presented to us over a two hour period and said no less than 7 times how wonderful it was to be together.
With a heart bursting with gratitude, I couldn’t agree more.
I sat listening to my grandmother reminisce over a time when she and my grandfather had tea every afternoon when they were on an anniversary trip to the Greenbrier Hotel. Afternoon tea and my grandfather really don't belong in the same sentence, but my grandmother said he sat there, participating like it was something he had done his entire life. I have no doubt he hammed it up with a little pinky lift, too. The thought makes me smile.
I took a moment to soak in the picture before me. My grandmother, my aunt and I. How God has worked in each of our lives. You see, this isn't an event I would have thought a likely scenario say 15 years or so ago. And, as recently as this summer, I figured that most of my memories with my grandmother were already made.
Life has a funny way of putting distance between family. Actually, it isn't life and it isn't funny. Specifically with my relationship with my aunt, I am not sure why the relationship wasn't always on solid ground during the earlier part of my life. Different life phases, careers, school, interests? Misinterpreted statements, misconstrued circumstances. We never really had a bond or connection. I don't know that I will ever get my finger pinpointed on it. However, like a testimony, life before Christ should never be the focus...it is the incredible transformation of life with Christ - you know, the good stuff, that really matters.
I can say without a hesitation that I love my aunt. Sure, it was always there is some form, maybe only because she was family. But, God has worked what can only be described as a miracle in both of our lives in the latter parts of our years. Perspectives have changed; worldly matters that consumed us have been taken away and the loss of my precious sister have factored into it. In place of these things, I believe a softness and compassion for God now resides which trickles down to how we view each other. I have been given a chance to see and experience her heart and I praise God for that. She is one of the most incredible women I know. Smart, funny, thoughtful and compassionate - she has so many incredible qualities that I never knew. Maybe they were always there, but as I grow in my walk with Christ, I see them. They are shining. I am amazed at how God has so quickly and without any hubbub or therapy fully restored this relationship as if it has always been. I am a teensy sad I didn't have all of this earlier, however I am more thrilled to have it for the rest of my life.
It shouldn't go without mentioning that she is a master gardener - the absolute coolest garden I have ever had the pleasure of visiting - cool, funky garden houses, a green house made of old windows, hideaway seating areas, nooks and crannies that keep you poking around for days. To top it all off, she and my uncle are organic farmers, grow a vineyard, have chickens and the two largest, and possibly the most spoiled goats of all time. Years of managing a furniture store have also given her incredible design skills and an eye for the unusually whimsical. I can't even begin to describe her unconventional, yet totally hip house. What more could you wish for in an aunt?
Regarding my grandmother, I have missed quite a few years with her as well. This occurred most recently as she was the primary caregiver for my grandfather during his 10-year run with Alzheimer's. I never held any grudges - of course not. I just missed having her as a constant in my life. During this time, I always knew she had some misgivings about not really knowing my children and about missing out on the important events in our lives. But, it was what life had dealt her and her dedication to my grandfather was beyond admirable. It was a perfect picture of what God asks of us when we say our wedding vows.
After my grandfather passed away in August, I wondered how my grandmother would pick herself up and start living again. Inwardly, I wondered if she wouldn't quickly pass of a heart, broken and grief-stricken. After all, she was married to my grandfather for 67 years. Yet, she has managed to not only move forward, but to have moments of true enjoyment. I hope that our excursion to tea was one of them. I think it was as she savored each morsel of goodies presented to us over a two hour period and said no less than 7 times how wonderful it was to be together.
With a heart bursting with gratitude, I couldn’t agree more.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas 2009
Glimpses of Christmas memories 2009:
"Warm milk! Santa HAS to have warm milk!" That was the shout of my Sadie as we entered the house on Christmas Eve. "The Santa watch" presented by the weather man on the local television channel showed that Santa was definitely in the Triad so the two girls who still believe were crazy to get home and get in bed.
Before going to dinner for Christmas Eve festivites, our little family of 5 gathered around the advent wreath while Jay read Luke 2, Christ's birth. We followed it by talking about the 4 elements of the advent - hope, joy, peace and love. The kids talked about how Jesus brings each of those to us. We ended this special family time by taking turns pray. I loved Sadie's in particular. She said, "God, please help Santa fit into our chimeny because it is small. And, God, please help us to put Jesus first as he is the reason we celebrate." I love how she prayed about Santa first then asks God to help us remember Jesus. Ethan contributed a great verse about Peace he had recently learned at school. Lovey Lily simply said, "I love you, Jesus." Sweetness.
At dinner with my family tonight, Lily was quite whiny and quite active. I pulled the Santa card. She promptly told me that I did NOT know how to get in touch with Santa. My uncle, hearing this little exchange, quickly entered a "Santa" number on his cell phone. I handed it to Lily, asking her what it said. "Santa," she said and quickly sat up in her chair and ate her green beans. Nice touch, Uncle Danny!
Christmas morning brought a wake-up shake at 6:45. We have had earlier wake-ups on Christmas morning, so I am ok with this one. Our tradition is that the kids must sit at the top of the stairs to wait for us to get the lights on, cameras ready, etc. We love seeing their anticipating faces. When we give the "Ok" they bolt down the stairs to their respective piles of goodies from Santa. This year brought new scooters to each of them - Lily got a plasma car which is propelled by moving the steering wheel; Ethan got a spark scooter and Sadie got a v-wing scooter. The various dsi games were also a hit. We (Mom and Dad) always get the exciting task of giving them clothing and this was no exception as each of the kids received snow bibs, gloves and long john underwear. I love how our kids feign excitment over gifts that don't hold a candle to Ninetnedo. At least they were very appreciative.
After opening and unpackaging the "goods", using a large garbage bag to try to confine the discarded wrap and bows, we got dressed and headed to Grammy's for the day. We stayed all day long which was a tradition I had at my own grandmother's growing up. The day included a lovely nap, lots of food and two large puzzles. We were obsessed with them.
Arriving home after dinner, we allowed the kids to play with their toys for a little while and then headed everyone to bed. A nice, laid-back Christmas Day during which we were able to reflect upon Him.
"Warm milk! Santa HAS to have warm milk!" That was the shout of my Sadie as we entered the house on Christmas Eve. "The Santa watch" presented by the weather man on the local television channel showed that Santa was definitely in the Triad so the two girls who still believe were crazy to get home and get in bed.
Before going to dinner for Christmas Eve festivites, our little family of 5 gathered around the advent wreath while Jay read Luke 2, Christ's birth. We followed it by talking about the 4 elements of the advent - hope, joy, peace and love. The kids talked about how Jesus brings each of those to us. We ended this special family time by taking turns pray. I loved Sadie's in particular. She said, "God, please help Santa fit into our chimeny because it is small. And, God, please help us to put Jesus first as he is the reason we celebrate." I love how she prayed about Santa first then asks God to help us remember Jesus. Ethan contributed a great verse about Peace he had recently learned at school. Lovey Lily simply said, "I love you, Jesus." Sweetness.
At dinner with my family tonight, Lily was quite whiny and quite active. I pulled the Santa card. She promptly told me that I did NOT know how to get in touch with Santa. My uncle, hearing this little exchange, quickly entered a "Santa" number on his cell phone. I handed it to Lily, asking her what it said. "Santa," she said and quickly sat up in her chair and ate her green beans. Nice touch, Uncle Danny!
Christmas morning brought a wake-up shake at 6:45. We have had earlier wake-ups on Christmas morning, so I am ok with this one. Our tradition is that the kids must sit at the top of the stairs to wait for us to get the lights on, cameras ready, etc. We love seeing their anticipating faces. When we give the "Ok" they bolt down the stairs to their respective piles of goodies from Santa. This year brought new scooters to each of them - Lily got a plasma car which is propelled by moving the steering wheel; Ethan got a spark scooter and Sadie got a v-wing scooter. The various dsi games were also a hit. We (Mom and Dad) always get the exciting task of giving them clothing and this was no exception as each of the kids received snow bibs, gloves and long john underwear. I love how our kids feign excitment over gifts that don't hold a candle to Ninetnedo. At least they were very appreciative.
After opening and unpackaging the "goods", using a large garbage bag to try to confine the discarded wrap and bows, we got dressed and headed to Grammy's for the day. We stayed all day long which was a tradition I had at my own grandmother's growing up. The day included a lovely nap, lots of food and two large puzzles. We were obsessed with them.
Arriving home after dinner, we allowed the kids to play with their toys for a little while and then headed everyone to bed. A nice, laid-back Christmas Day during which we were able to reflect upon Him.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
A Plain, White Family
The story had been swirling around in our family for years. Each time it was told, the intrigue and mystery grew. I imagine what little information poured out as the story unfolded became slightly embellished. However, the possibilities that the story held, gripped me and mesmerized me.
It was first told to me 10 year ago, a tale resurrected from long ago memories. I was pregnant with my first child and was grieving the loss of my great aunt, Iris. The family was gathered at the funeral home waiting for visitors to pay their respects and offer condolences. An elderly gentleman entered the room. He was of African-American decent, the only of such color in the room.
The funeral director approached him and asked, "Are you a friend of the family?"
The gentleman replied, "No, I am family."
I am sure my head did a double take as I sized up this man, of a different race, whom I had never heard, as he came into the room quite confidently. He approached the open casket of my dear, great-aunt Iris. My father shook his hand, my grandparents spoke to him and I just stood there.
Later, when the evening was winding down, I found the time and words to ask my grandmother who the man was. This is what I was told:
His name is Charlie, my grandmother explained. When he was a young man, he came to live with my great-grandparents, my Aunt Iris and my uncles. It was the same house that Iris lived in until her death. He lived under the stairs, which was a tiny bit of a closet, and helped around the house and yard. He came to live there because his own mother was having trouble, financially, with caring for him. It was always understood that somehow he was family, but no one really talked about it. She added, he still lives in High Point over on Cedrow.
The story was told with a matter-of-factness that surprised me. After all, I was just told that one of my great-grandparents must have been involved in an interracial affair. Most likely, my great-grandfather, Frank. It was a potential scandal of magnificent proportions taking place in the 1910s or so. The fact that this man still resided in our town and yet, was not still involved in our family greatly bothered me. Questions swirled around in my brain.
What was/is his relationship to ours?
Do I have an entirely other family that I do not know?
Is that when the more than the average, wide-nose trait that dons most of the Aulbert family moved into our gene pool?
If he is family, what happened that no one really knows the story?
What has happened to him?
If related, why did our family abandon him after all these years?
Over the years I have often thought of this man, Charlie. Being the investigator and the family writer, it is probably in my nature to seek out these stories of massive intrigue. However, with three small children, a sister with cancer, building a house and well, life, the quest for the truth fell by the wayside. That is, until, my grandfather passed away this summer.
Charlie, being in the early stages of Alzheimer's, did not come to the funeral this time. However, my grandmother looked up his number and called to inform him of this passing. His wife, Elouise, answered the phone. My grandmother explained why she was calling. Elouise called out to him, "Charlie, it is Reba. She is calling to tell you your brother has died." And, with that, I decided that it was time, time to uncover the truth.
I procured Charlie's number from my grandmother and phoned him. His son answered the phone and I explained who I was and that I wanted to talk to Mr. R about his relationship with my grandfather. An appointed day and time was set for the next week.
I arrived at their house, anxious to meet what I hoped was a whole new branch of our family. Given the amount of political correctness thrust (read: crammed) into my education at Chapel Hill, I was pathetically riveted by the fact that I could have a mixed-race heritage. According to my education, I should almost be ashamed of being from a plain, white family. The implications of somehow escaping this label were limitless in my mind. It was my single focus....to bring together and celebrate my new-found African-American heritage.
The door to the house opened before I could even knock. The elderly black man said, "Hello!" and immediately drew me to him in a big bear hug. His wife, I presumed, stood behind him waiting her turn for another hug filled with warmth, making me feel quickly at home.
We sat down and and after thanking them for allowing me into their home, I wasted no time getting straight to the point. I recounted what I knew of Charlie and his relationship to our family. I finally asked, point blank, "Are you related to our family?" I held my breath...
Charlie replied, "No, not blood related."
I admit, I was disappointed. The next logical question was, "Then why do you refer to my great-aunts and great-uncles as your brothers and sisters?"
Charlie answered, "Because they treated me like family."
I sat there listening, slowly comprehending what he was telling me. Soaking it all in.
He continued by saying, "My family was very, very poor. I had 13 brothers and sisters and my mother could not take care of us all. Your family brought me into their house to help around with the yard and other house maintenance. I ate at the table with them. I slept in their rooms in a bed. I went to church with them at the Quaker church, sitting on the same pew. I was fully accepted by them. I was one of their own. They called me their son. That was really rare in the 1930s."
He continued to tell me more about life with my great-grandparents - funny little anecdotes, insights into personalities, etc. When he came to live with them, it was the first time he had experienced indoor plumbing. He was, understandably, very grateful for this fact. I have always known that my great-grandparents were not affluent. In fact, they were not even what was considered middle class. Money was always a bit tight and yet, they took on another mouth to feed and clothe.
As I listened, I became keenly aware of the ridiculousness of my original goal of the visit. It was completely embarrassing. Instead of thinking that my family would be elevated to some higher, more esteemed level because of its racially diverse and scandalous background, I realized that my family was, in fact, already quite different. They were unique because they broke the racial barriers that were prevalent during those days. They knew how to treat another human being with dignity, compassion and love, despite the culture of the south and really the entire nation. This fact was profoundly more important.
I heard from Charlie that time was the reason for the disconnect between our families, not discord. He moved out of the house when he was around 20 and lived on the other side of town. It wasn't common for races to intermix socially. Both were just more comfortable in their own territory. My great-aunt would continue to call him to help around my grandfather's house until my great-grandfather's death in 1971; my aunt always paying him for his help. He was extremely thankful for my family and their care. I teared at hearing his heart-felt appreciation.
We continued to talk. Me, hearing more about his youth, his family, his grown children. He, hearing about mine. I left Charlies' house not sure if I would ever see him again, but filled with a better sense of the stock of people from which I come. It is a legacy that I will enthusiastically continue and teach my children. My plain, white family is maybe not so plain after all.
It was first told to me 10 year ago, a tale resurrected from long ago memories. I was pregnant with my first child and was grieving the loss of my great aunt, Iris. The family was gathered at the funeral home waiting for visitors to pay their respects and offer condolences. An elderly gentleman entered the room. He was of African-American decent, the only of such color in the room.
The funeral director approached him and asked, "Are you a friend of the family?"
The gentleman replied, "No, I am family."
I am sure my head did a double take as I sized up this man, of a different race, whom I had never heard, as he came into the room quite confidently. He approached the open casket of my dear, great-aunt Iris. My father shook his hand, my grandparents spoke to him and I just stood there.
Later, when the evening was winding down, I found the time and words to ask my grandmother who the man was. This is what I was told:
His name is Charlie, my grandmother explained. When he was a young man, he came to live with my great-grandparents, my Aunt Iris and my uncles. It was the same house that Iris lived in until her death. He lived under the stairs, which was a tiny bit of a closet, and helped around the house and yard. He came to live there because his own mother was having trouble, financially, with caring for him. It was always understood that somehow he was family, but no one really talked about it. She added, he still lives in High Point over on Cedrow.
The story was told with a matter-of-factness that surprised me. After all, I was just told that one of my great-grandparents must have been involved in an interracial affair. Most likely, my great-grandfather, Frank. It was a potential scandal of magnificent proportions taking place in the 1910s or so. The fact that this man still resided in our town and yet, was not still involved in our family greatly bothered me. Questions swirled around in my brain.
What was/is his relationship to ours?
Do I have an entirely other family that I do not know?
Is that when the more than the average, wide-nose trait that dons most of the Aulbert family moved into our gene pool?
If he is family, what happened that no one really knows the story?
What has happened to him?
If related, why did our family abandon him after all these years?
Over the years I have often thought of this man, Charlie. Being the investigator and the family writer, it is probably in my nature to seek out these stories of massive intrigue. However, with three small children, a sister with cancer, building a house and well, life, the quest for the truth fell by the wayside. That is, until, my grandfather passed away this summer.
Charlie, being in the early stages of Alzheimer's, did not come to the funeral this time. However, my grandmother looked up his number and called to inform him of this passing. His wife, Elouise, answered the phone. My grandmother explained why she was calling. Elouise called out to him, "Charlie, it is Reba. She is calling to tell you your brother has died." And, with that, I decided that it was time, time to uncover the truth.
I procured Charlie's number from my grandmother and phoned him. His son answered the phone and I explained who I was and that I wanted to talk to Mr. R about his relationship with my grandfather. An appointed day and time was set for the next week.
I arrived at their house, anxious to meet what I hoped was a whole new branch of our family. Given the amount of political correctness thrust (read: crammed) into my education at Chapel Hill, I was pathetically riveted by the fact that I could have a mixed-race heritage. According to my education, I should almost be ashamed of being from a plain, white family. The implications of somehow escaping this label were limitless in my mind. It was my single focus....to bring together and celebrate my new-found African-American heritage.
The door to the house opened before I could even knock. The elderly black man said, "Hello!" and immediately drew me to him in a big bear hug. His wife, I presumed, stood behind him waiting her turn for another hug filled with warmth, making me feel quickly at home.
We sat down and and after thanking them for allowing me into their home, I wasted no time getting straight to the point. I recounted what I knew of Charlie and his relationship to our family. I finally asked, point blank, "Are you related to our family?" I held my breath...
Charlie replied, "No, not blood related."
I admit, I was disappointed. The next logical question was, "Then why do you refer to my great-aunts and great-uncles as your brothers and sisters?"
Charlie answered, "Because they treated me like family."
I sat there listening, slowly comprehending what he was telling me. Soaking it all in.
He continued by saying, "My family was very, very poor. I had 13 brothers and sisters and my mother could not take care of us all. Your family brought me into their house to help around with the yard and other house maintenance. I ate at the table with them. I slept in their rooms in a bed. I went to church with them at the Quaker church, sitting on the same pew. I was fully accepted by them. I was one of their own. They called me their son. That was really rare in the 1930s."
He continued to tell me more about life with my great-grandparents - funny little anecdotes, insights into personalities, etc. When he came to live with them, it was the first time he had experienced indoor plumbing. He was, understandably, very grateful for this fact. I have always known that my great-grandparents were not affluent. In fact, they were not even what was considered middle class. Money was always a bit tight and yet, they took on another mouth to feed and clothe.
As I listened, I became keenly aware of the ridiculousness of my original goal of the visit. It was completely embarrassing. Instead of thinking that my family would be elevated to some higher, more esteemed level because of its racially diverse and scandalous background, I realized that my family was, in fact, already quite different. They were unique because they broke the racial barriers that were prevalent during those days. They knew how to treat another human being with dignity, compassion and love, despite the culture of the south and really the entire nation. This fact was profoundly more important.
I heard from Charlie that time was the reason for the disconnect between our families, not discord. He moved out of the house when he was around 20 and lived on the other side of town. It wasn't common for races to intermix socially. Both were just more comfortable in their own territory. My great-aunt would continue to call him to help around my grandfather's house until my great-grandfather's death in 1971; my aunt always paying him for his help. He was extremely thankful for my family and their care. I teared at hearing his heart-felt appreciation.
We continued to talk. Me, hearing more about his youth, his family, his grown children. He, hearing about mine. I left Charlies' house not sure if I would ever see him again, but filled with a better sense of the stock of people from which I come. It is a legacy that I will enthusiastically continue and teach my children. My plain, white family is maybe not so plain after all.
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