This post is not an original idea of my own, rather a blog-lift or blogarism from another site I visit. However, the topic was so totally applicable to my own family, that I knew it must be written from the Dumoulin point of view.
The sound of our doorbell or a knock at our door is a signal to our kids to begin acting like they are wild, rabid animals who have been caged for the last 24 hours. I am not exaggerating. It is like they have lost all sense of decency, control, social graces, and/or common courtesy. Like the demon possessed, their eyes grow wide as inappropriate words and topics burst forth from their mouths.
It doesn't matter whether the person at the door is the mailman, our next door neighbor or even their own grandmother. It is as consistent as Pavlov's rat! Ding-dong! Let the insanity begin.
In general, this is what I can be assured will happen at some point during a "visit":
One of my children will appear with either a lack of clothing (no shirt or no pants, years ago even completely naked) OR will don some sort of costume that is either too small (read too revealing) or improperly worn.
One of my children will talk about the potty or a personal grooming habit. Poop, pee, toot, fart (though a banned word in our house), naked (see above), potty, nose, pick, stinky, privates - pick a word. It will be used.
One of my children will do something so outlandish that you will stand there stunned like a deer in headlights not knowing which way to run. For example, Sadie was four when she decided to open up a window and attempt to crawl out of it while a babysitter was present. Thankfully, it was open to a deck just a couple of feet below. But seriously? What?
One of my children will start chasing the dog giving the impression that we frequently host dog races at our house. Take your bets, people! Around and around they go; the dog begins to bark uncontrollably and quite loudly. No conversation can be had. Chaos ensues.
One of my children will decide to subject our visitor to a stand-up comedy routine filled with self-penned jokes. Most don't make any sense, but do send the "comedian" into fits of laughter. Occasionally, a "show" will be performed in the living room, admittance by ticket only. Usually, it is requested that the visitor purchase this ticket (a hastily cut piece of paper) with real money!
One of my children will insist on giving our visitor on a "home tour." Naturally, if the visitor is an unexpected guest, I have not prepared our domicile accordingly. Therefore, the visitor is subjected to viewing bathrooms with personal effects strewn about, the stench of a toilet left unflushed, heaps of laundry on the kitchen table and an occasional pull-up not properly disposed and left on the floor where it was discarded.
Specifically, Ethan will suddenly become "The Great Mumbler." When he is speaking to an adult, I must jump into my role as "translator" because no one can understand the nine-year old gibberish he speaks under his breath. I stand there like a parrot, repeating what he has just said so that our visitor can understand him. And, I think he believes that if he actually looks at an adult in the face while speaking, he will be instantly vaporized by their eyes.
Sadie can only be described as the "Tasmanian Devil." It is like a tornado spinning throughout the house, picking up object after object, destroying order, sliding down banisters, darting here and there.
Lily usually decides to become "The Great Clinger." She sees every visitor is an opportunity for Mommy to leave her, I think. She hides behind my legs, refusing to answer any question thrown at her. Never leaving my side.
After the children have sufficiently established our house as an insane asylum and my performance as a mother a complete and utter failure, it is time for the visitor to leave. The door closes and the children, sweetly and innocently, act as if nothing at all had just happened. The Twilight Zone left as quickly as it came and I am left completely dumbfounded.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Thoughts on a rather hectic day:
I went to Big Lots to find some ribbon. There was a lady collecting money for the Salvation Army. She was also entertaining everyone entering or exiting the store with her unusual way of singing. Confession time - I usually get irritated when people sing out loud, randomly, when the song is not playing in the background, even when they are good singers. It is just a personal quirk. This lady, despite doing her best to bring Christmas cheer, was belting out Christmas songs and sounding like a cross between a cat being strangled and a chicken being punched. As I stood in the check-out line, the doors to the store would open and close producing another titillating and screeching snippet of her talents for our listening pleasure. Pretty dreadful and way over sung. I wasn't quite sure if depositing some change in her bucket would be encouraging or quiet her down. Nevertheless, I offered up some coins and went on my way. It was met with a, "Now, YOU have a blessed day, Ma'am!" Amen!
I wonder why I think I can ever make a quick trip to WalMart at any time during the year, but it seems particularly ludicrous during the high-shopping Christmas season. I even tried my hand at rewriting my shopping list to coincide with the flow of the store (back to front) with the random soup ladle and deodorant listed to the side. I race through the aisles, trying to get a cart load of groceries and a prescription in just under and hour. Completely out of breath, I threw my bags in my car and raced to Chik-fil-a to pick-up food for my kids' lunch that morning. This entire situation would not have occurred had I been able to get my grocery shopping done the day prior. But, I didn't. Therefore, there was absolutely nothing with which to fix their lunches having exhausted all bread, soup, spaghettio's and beanie weanies.
I discovered, that in a panic, I can make a large crock pot of ham and corn chowder, a large tin pan of baked spaghetti and another of chicken fajitas in less than an hour. However, on most nights it takes me longer just to fix one simple meal.
My children, no matter how much I plan and instruct, still have a difficult time changing clothes, swimming and collecting their own discarded and used clothing. We found Ethan's winter coat in the lost and found where it had been left the practice prior. We have lost and reclaimed t-shirts, goggles, etc. We have come home with a towel, t-shirt, swim gear that isn't even ours. I have tried every trick - labeling clothing and gear, having a separate hamper bag for the car, smaller bags, bigger bags, etc. Now, I just pray.
I went to Big Lots to find some ribbon. There was a lady collecting money for the Salvation Army. She was also entertaining everyone entering or exiting the store with her unusual way of singing. Confession time - I usually get irritated when people sing out loud, randomly, when the song is not playing in the background, even when they are good singers. It is just a personal quirk. This lady, despite doing her best to bring Christmas cheer, was belting out Christmas songs and sounding like a cross between a cat being strangled and a chicken being punched. As I stood in the check-out line, the doors to the store would open and close producing another titillating and screeching snippet of her talents for our listening pleasure. Pretty dreadful and way over sung. I wasn't quite sure if depositing some change in her bucket would be encouraging or quiet her down. Nevertheless, I offered up some coins and went on my way. It was met with a, "Now, YOU have a blessed day, Ma'am!" Amen!
I wonder why I think I can ever make a quick trip to WalMart at any time during the year, but it seems particularly ludicrous during the high-shopping Christmas season. I even tried my hand at rewriting my shopping list to coincide with the flow of the store (back to front) with the random soup ladle and deodorant listed to the side. I race through the aisles, trying to get a cart load of groceries and a prescription in just under and hour. Completely out of breath, I threw my bags in my car and raced to Chik-fil-a to pick-up food for my kids' lunch that morning. This entire situation would not have occurred had I been able to get my grocery shopping done the day prior. But, I didn't. Therefore, there was absolutely nothing with which to fix their lunches having exhausted all bread, soup, spaghettio's and beanie weanies.
I discovered, that in a panic, I can make a large crock pot of ham and corn chowder, a large tin pan of baked spaghetti and another of chicken fajitas in less than an hour. However, on most nights it takes me longer just to fix one simple meal.
My children, no matter how much I plan and instruct, still have a difficult time changing clothes, swimming and collecting their own discarded and used clothing. We found Ethan's winter coat in the lost and found where it had been left the practice prior. We have lost and reclaimed t-shirts, goggles, etc. We have come home with a towel, t-shirt, swim gear that isn't even ours. I have tried every trick - labeling clothing and gear, having a separate hamper bag for the car, smaller bags, bigger bags, etc. Now, I just pray.
A Prettier Picture
Yesterday's post was created from actual incidents that had occurred within the previous 24 hours of it being authored. It doesn't paint a pretty picture of my children. In order to balance the negativity with some "all is not lost" fodder, I present today's post.
As a service project this Christmas, the kindergarten classes at school decided to bring in various toys, personal care items, gloves, hats, etc. for another elementary school. This other school has 370 students in grades K-3 who are, for the most part, well-below the poverty level. Each year, the teachers stock their staff room with these items and allow each child to pick out a few things for Christmas. My heart is especially soft for children who might go without during a season when no child should.
I had earmarked some funds to go to this cause. Last week, I was excited to find sweatshirts and long-sleeved t-shirts on sale at WalMart for less than $3.00. I also added in some gloves, hats and activity books. I was feeling pretty good about the purchases and marked it off my Christmas "to-do" list.
Over the weekend, the kids decided to check their personal money envelopes we use to hold birthday money, gift cards, etc. We also found an envelope containing the money they raised this summer at a yard sale. They had cleaned out their toys and with my help, had baked cookies and brownies. All in all, they managed to raise $35.25. Originally, the kids had wanted to use the money for personal gain. We had not had an opportunity to do so, therefore the envelope had remained in the drawer.
It was Sadie who first proposed the idea of using the money to purchase gifts for another child. Quickly, they all agreed. They also wanted to use additional money from their personal stash as well and so I allowed them to pick a certain amount to do so. We ventured to the Dollar Tree to make our selections. Sadie had already made her list of what she wanted to buy. I love that store because you can really stretch your money.
The kids didn't ask once to purchase something for themselves. Excitedly, they picked out toothbrushes, gloves, hats, puzzles, scarves, crayons, activity books, lip balm, books, etc. We stayed away from items that might only be used one time and then discarded. I also navigated them away from the plastic junk that might break just by opening the packaging. The kids were thrilled and my heart was warmed seeing them understand the true meaning of Christmas: Giving and sacrificing for others as Christ gave to us.
When we got home, Lily curled up next to me on my bed for a little snuggle. I told her she would need to take in the large bag of donations to class the next day. Then she told me, "Today, Mommy, I gave my Stitch animal." "What?" I asked. The reality began to sink in as I remembered seeing her bring down 4 of her stuffed animal downstairs that morning. I made her haul them back up because she didn't need to take them to school where I thought she just wanted to play with them. Evidently, she still snuck the Stitch one, the one she had just picked out as her special toy from Disney just a few weeks prior, into her bag. I didn't know that her intention was to donate it. She truly gave from her heart.
I need to remember that when I believe my children are completely self-absorbed beings who are only interested in satisfying their own self-interests, there is a bit of selflessness being nurtured in there. Now, I let out a much more contented...Sigh.
As a service project this Christmas, the kindergarten classes at school decided to bring in various toys, personal care items, gloves, hats, etc. for another elementary school. This other school has 370 students in grades K-3 who are, for the most part, well-below the poverty level. Each year, the teachers stock their staff room with these items and allow each child to pick out a few things for Christmas. My heart is especially soft for children who might go without during a season when no child should.
I had earmarked some funds to go to this cause. Last week, I was excited to find sweatshirts and long-sleeved t-shirts on sale at WalMart for less than $3.00. I also added in some gloves, hats and activity books. I was feeling pretty good about the purchases and marked it off my Christmas "to-do" list.
Over the weekend, the kids decided to check their personal money envelopes we use to hold birthday money, gift cards, etc. We also found an envelope containing the money they raised this summer at a yard sale. They had cleaned out their toys and with my help, had baked cookies and brownies. All in all, they managed to raise $35.25. Originally, the kids had wanted to use the money for personal gain. We had not had an opportunity to do so, therefore the envelope had remained in the drawer.
It was Sadie who first proposed the idea of using the money to purchase gifts for another child. Quickly, they all agreed. They also wanted to use additional money from their personal stash as well and so I allowed them to pick a certain amount to do so. We ventured to the Dollar Tree to make our selections. Sadie had already made her list of what she wanted to buy. I love that store because you can really stretch your money.
The kids didn't ask once to purchase something for themselves. Excitedly, they picked out toothbrushes, gloves, hats, puzzles, scarves, crayons, activity books, lip balm, books, etc. We stayed away from items that might only be used one time and then discarded. I also navigated them away from the plastic junk that might break just by opening the packaging. The kids were thrilled and my heart was warmed seeing them understand the true meaning of Christmas: Giving and sacrificing for others as Christ gave to us.
When we got home, Lily curled up next to me on my bed for a little snuggle. I told her she would need to take in the large bag of donations to class the next day. Then she told me, "Today, Mommy, I gave my Stitch animal." "What?" I asked. The reality began to sink in as I remembered seeing her bring down 4 of her stuffed animal downstairs that morning. I made her haul them back up because she didn't need to take them to school where I thought she just wanted to play with them. Evidently, she still snuck the Stitch one, the one she had just picked out as her special toy from Disney just a few weeks prior, into her bag. I didn't know that her intention was to donate it. She truly gave from her heart.
I need to remember that when I believe my children are completely self-absorbed beings who are only interested in satisfying their own self-interests, there is a bit of selflessness being nurtured in there. Now, I let out a much more contented...Sigh.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
How Dare I?
I am such a mean, terrible mommy. I am positive I am the worst to have ever lived. For example:
How dare I pack my children's swim bags every Monday and Wednesday. What am I thinking putting a black bathing suit in a black swim bag causing my kids to search tireless for it in their bag.
How dare I not respond immediately and run upstairs when one of my children screams, "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMYYYYYY!" at their loudest volume.
How dare I make my children wear long-sleeves and pants when it is 40 degrees outside. I know t-shirts and shorts are more hip, possibly even more comfortable, but excuse me for worrying about frostbite.
How dare I have only one bottle of special swimmer's hair conditioner for my children to share. I know it must tax them greatly to have to walk the long distance between their bathrooms to exchange the one bottle. I am so sorry for this.
How dare I force my children to complete their school work by themselves, before the deadline while attempting to answer every single question on the page. The horror of horror must be when they are asked to remember to put their name on their paper. I mean, in life, I know that sometimes you don't have make an effort to fully complete your tasks, so it is probably a lesson they don't need to learn. It is just important to me.
How dare I not make every dollop of food and drink I give my kids perfectly even. I know I should carefully measure out each serving and I am sorry that I am so slack in this endeavor.
How dare I finish off the cookies last night that I made over the weekend. I know the kids did not offer to help make them while they were watching "Tom & Jerry" on the television in the kitchen. However, they should be entitled to all the cookies they want, including the last ones which should be measured and divided evenly for them.
How dare I forget to order lunch for them each month. I know that we could eat at a restaurant more cheaply than what it costs them to eat their catered school lunches, but it really shouldn't matter. I know it must be embarrassing for them to be the only ones taking their lunch every day.
How dare I make them complete household chores like putting clothes away, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning their rooms. It is the equivalent to slave labor because I don't pay them for their work, rather I view it as their contributions to helping run our household.
How dare I make a homecooked meal rather than pick-up something on the way home from swimming two days a week. I know my efforts to teach them about nutrition is probably outdated.
How dare I ask that my children brush their teeth not once, but twice a day. Good, healthy teeth are not in fashion right now. And, bad breath is a sure way to win friends. Why would I want them to know this, right?
How dare I send my children to school when they are tired or have a headache or just don't feel like going. I should probably just break the law and allow this truancy, but being compliant is just my nature.
Maybe they will forgive me one day... Sigh.
How dare I pack my children's swim bags every Monday and Wednesday. What am I thinking putting a black bathing suit in a black swim bag causing my kids to search tireless for it in their bag.
How dare I not respond immediately and run upstairs when one of my children screams, "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMYYYYYY!" at their loudest volume.
How dare I make my children wear long-sleeves and pants when it is 40 degrees outside. I know t-shirts and shorts are more hip, possibly even more comfortable, but excuse me for worrying about frostbite.
How dare I have only one bottle of special swimmer's hair conditioner for my children to share. I know it must tax them greatly to have to walk the long distance between their bathrooms to exchange the one bottle. I am so sorry for this.
How dare I force my children to complete their school work by themselves, before the deadline while attempting to answer every single question on the page. The horror of horror must be when they are asked to remember to put their name on their paper. I mean, in life, I know that sometimes you don't have make an effort to fully complete your tasks, so it is probably a lesson they don't need to learn. It is just important to me.
How dare I not make every dollop of food and drink I give my kids perfectly even. I know I should carefully measure out each serving and I am sorry that I am so slack in this endeavor.
How dare I finish off the cookies last night that I made over the weekend. I know the kids did not offer to help make them while they were watching "Tom & Jerry" on the television in the kitchen. However, they should be entitled to all the cookies they want, including the last ones which should be measured and divided evenly for them.
How dare I forget to order lunch for them each month. I know that we could eat at a restaurant more cheaply than what it costs them to eat their catered school lunches, but it really shouldn't matter. I know it must be embarrassing for them to be the only ones taking their lunch every day.
How dare I make them complete household chores like putting clothes away, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning their rooms. It is the equivalent to slave labor because I don't pay them for their work, rather I view it as their contributions to helping run our household.
How dare I make a homecooked meal rather than pick-up something on the way home from swimming two days a week. I know my efforts to teach them about nutrition is probably outdated.
How dare I ask that my children brush their teeth not once, but twice a day. Good, healthy teeth are not in fashion right now. And, bad breath is a sure way to win friends. Why would I want them to know this, right?
How dare I send my children to school when they are tired or have a headache or just don't feel like going. I should probably just break the law and allow this truancy, but being compliant is just my nature.
Maybe they will forgive me one day... Sigh.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Children's Update
It is time to write an update on the kids. Life is flying by me and the moments are slipping away...
Ethan:
I have discovered a little tick of Ethan's. When he is excited or nervous, he makes noise. Not necessarily words, but just strange, bizarre and very quickly irritating noises. I am sure it will pass, but I find myself saying, quite frequently, "Ethan, enough with the noises." He asks me nearly every week to have lunch with him at school. I never understand this request, because when I am able to fulfill this request, he doesn't really talk to me. However, today, I will oblige this request. Schoolwork always seem to be second on the list. He cares, but not enough to make it a priority. Nevertheless, he ended up with all As and one B on this first report card of the year. I still feel that I have to stay behind him a bit too much. It is time for him to increase his level of independence. We also are working on "fairness" and the extreme focus he has on always making sure he gets what his sisters have. He is still quite the funny man and enjoys guitar, choir and swimming.
Sadie:
Jay and I had an appointment at the pediatrician's office yesterday without Sadie. This regards the various amounts of paperwork we and her teacher have completed about her behavior. The outcome of the paperwork was not surprising to me - ADHD (strong Hyperactivity) and also some tendencies for ODD (Oppositional Defiance Disorder). We are opting NOT to put Sadie on medication because her school work is not suffering. Instead, our pediatrician, who no longer prescribes medication to any child for the above, has a different type of behavior-modification plan, and a nutrition plan. He believes in integrative medicine, looking at multiple approaches. Can I get an AMEN? We go back in a couple of weeks to receive our "manual." Meanwhile, I believe Sadie has calmed down a bit in class, but there have been some social issues that have concerned me. In the meantime, schoolwork is still above average, swimming is her first love and she does nothing but draw and read with her free time. Tell me again why we should be concerned?
Lily:
Oh, lovey Lily. Always starving. That is the first thing I can write. She is doing well with academics in school, but could be a bit better in consistency with writing. We continue to practice at home, but honestly, it just isn't a strong point for her. Otherwise, reading is coming very easily and math concepts not a struggle. She is the youngest in her class and the teachers say that sometimes that shows, but not in the majority of her work. There is an occasional morning when, as the teacher assistant said, "She just doesn't give a flip," but that doesn't seem to be as often anymore. At least she is not asking/crying to stay with me in the mornings anymore. She has started some swim lessons with the same coach as Ethan and Sadie. She was very timid at first, refusing to swim with him. I asked her why. Her response, "Because he has hair on his chest." Obviously, she has not looked closely at her own bear-like, furry father. It appears that she has grown out of that and seems to really like doing what Ethan and Sadie do, "with their clothes on." This would mean that she likes doing, "dry land practice" that the kids do prior to swimming when they are still dressed in shorts and t-shirts. Funny. Her other activity is piano and I was excited to see her looking at the music while playing and not at her hands last night. Progress! The most comments I receive from others is how "loving" Lily is. Still quite the snuggle bug.
Ethan:
I have discovered a little tick of Ethan's. When he is excited or nervous, he makes noise. Not necessarily words, but just strange, bizarre and very quickly irritating noises. I am sure it will pass, but I find myself saying, quite frequently, "Ethan, enough with the noises." He asks me nearly every week to have lunch with him at school. I never understand this request, because when I am able to fulfill this request, he doesn't really talk to me. However, today, I will oblige this request. Schoolwork always seem to be second on the list. He cares, but not enough to make it a priority. Nevertheless, he ended up with all As and one B on this first report card of the year. I still feel that I have to stay behind him a bit too much. It is time for him to increase his level of independence. We also are working on "fairness" and the extreme focus he has on always making sure he gets what his sisters have. He is still quite the funny man and enjoys guitar, choir and swimming.
Sadie:
Jay and I had an appointment at the pediatrician's office yesterday without Sadie. This regards the various amounts of paperwork we and her teacher have completed about her behavior. The outcome of the paperwork was not surprising to me - ADHD (strong Hyperactivity) and also some tendencies for ODD (Oppositional Defiance Disorder). We are opting NOT to put Sadie on medication because her school work is not suffering. Instead, our pediatrician, who no longer prescribes medication to any child for the above, has a different type of behavior-modification plan, and a nutrition plan. He believes in integrative medicine, looking at multiple approaches. Can I get an AMEN? We go back in a couple of weeks to receive our "manual." Meanwhile, I believe Sadie has calmed down a bit in class, but there have been some social issues that have concerned me. In the meantime, schoolwork is still above average, swimming is her first love and she does nothing but draw and read with her free time. Tell me again why we should be concerned?
Lily:
Oh, lovey Lily. Always starving. That is the first thing I can write. She is doing well with academics in school, but could be a bit better in consistency with writing. We continue to practice at home, but honestly, it just isn't a strong point for her. Otherwise, reading is coming very easily and math concepts not a struggle. She is the youngest in her class and the teachers say that sometimes that shows, but not in the majority of her work. There is an occasional morning when, as the teacher assistant said, "She just doesn't give a flip," but that doesn't seem to be as often anymore. At least she is not asking/crying to stay with me in the mornings anymore. She has started some swim lessons with the same coach as Ethan and Sadie. She was very timid at first, refusing to swim with him. I asked her why. Her response, "Because he has hair on his chest." Obviously, she has not looked closely at her own bear-like, furry father. It appears that she has grown out of that and seems to really like doing what Ethan and Sadie do, "with their clothes on." This would mean that she likes doing, "dry land practice" that the kids do prior to swimming when they are still dressed in shorts and t-shirts. Funny. Her other activity is piano and I was excited to see her looking at the music while playing and not at her hands last night. Progress! The most comments I receive from others is how "loving" Lily is. Still quite the snuggle bug.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
A Visit to the See the Mouse...and others.
Our first trip to Disney 5 years ago, ended by us promising Sadie and Ethan that we would return when Lily was 5 years old. As the years passed, the kids never let us forget this "promise." Therefore, I found myself planning our second trip to Disney World in August, right around the time of Lily's 5th birthday. However, we kept it a complete surprise until we went to school to pick them up the day we were leaving. What a fantastically difficult, yet very rewarding surprise to keep!
Let me start by saying that prior to going to Disney in 2004, I can say that was not a big Disney fan. Sure, we watched the movies, but didn't "get" Disney in all of its wonderfulness. The last time I had been to Disney was when I was in 4th grade, - 28 years ago. In fact, I had a bit of snobbery when it came to Disney clothing. For the life of me I could never figure out why any adult would wear something with a Disney character on it. It just seemed a bit childish. In fact, I tended to pass on any Disney licensed product for my children, too. Just seemed a bit cheap and a tad too American. Yes, I will eat these words later in this post.
Disney in 2004 was a very special trip. My father paid for the entire family to go. We believed, at the time, that my sister was in complete remission from her breast cancer. It was a celebratory trip and simple a trip of a lifetime. Less than 2 months after our return, the cancer was found in her brain. What a blessing for God to time our trip without the thought of cancer hanging over us.
Now, it was my family's time to return to Disney. This would be Lily's first trip, because she was only 9 months old the firs time around and stayed in High Point while we were away. I am not sure who was more excited about this trip in the end. I would venture to guess me. There is something like seeing Mickey Mouse on that first day that just brings you back to being 5 again. I squealed his name like a little girl, "Ohhh - It's Mickey!'
We did things a little differently this trip. We rented a house which turned out the be the best decision. We also took my mom and stepdad - a huge help and blessing. It was so very nice to have another "mom" to help take kids to the million trips to the bathroom each day.
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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