That’s my cousin Tommy on the right. (Kerry, his son, is on the left.)
Up til today, I hadn’t seen Tommy in four years.
Tommy’s mom and my mom are sisters in a matriarchy that comes in two flavors - alcoholics and wussies.
I am one of the wussies. Our numbers are small and we are the outcasts. “We” are me, my late Gram, my mom and my son.
We have stood at the fringe of graduation and birthday parties, alternately checking our watches and staring at the tops of our shoes.
Is it impolite to leave early if nobody will notice you’ve left?
My aunt cooks amazing meals and the guests eat and drink til the kegs run dry; at which point, the least hammered grabs the car keys and weaves his way down back roads to the nearest party store. (Alcoholic theory has it that there are fewer cops on back roads.)
The wussies are long gone by then.
There wasn’t always a noticeable chasm in the family. Tommy was born when I was 7, as close to a sibling as I’ll ever get. We were the first grandchildren and Gram’s constant favorites for the whole of her life.
Growing up, we lived distant lives, drawn together by a shared love of Grandma and the fact that we were the two strangest people in a weird family.
I was a starry eyed optimist who married (and divorced) three times. Tommy got his heart broken early, so it took a long time before he had the courage to fall in love again.
His mother - my aunt - is an elegant control freak who lives to sit in judgment.
The day Tommy brought April - his fiancée - home to meet mom, April plunked down on the sofa, pulled a beer out of her purse and sucked suds like she was shooting the shit with a diesel mechanic.
Up til today, I hadn’t seen Tommy in four years.
Tommy’s mom and my mom are sisters in a matriarchy that comes in two flavors - alcoholics and wussies.
I am one of the wussies. Our numbers are small and we are the outcasts. “We” are me, my late Gram, my mom and my son.
We have stood at the fringe of graduation and birthday parties, alternately checking our watches and staring at the tops of our shoes.
Is it impolite to leave early if nobody will notice you’ve left?
My aunt cooks amazing meals and the guests eat and drink til the kegs run dry; at which point, the least hammered grabs the car keys and weaves his way down back roads to the nearest party store. (Alcoholic theory has it that there are fewer cops on back roads.)
The wussies are long gone by then.
There wasn’t always a noticeable chasm in the family. Tommy was born when I was 7, as close to a sibling as I’ll ever get. We were the first grandchildren and Gram’s constant favorites for the whole of her life.
Growing up, we lived distant lives, drawn together by a shared love of Grandma and the fact that we were the two strangest people in a weird family.
I was a starry eyed optimist who married (and divorced) three times. Tommy got his heart broken early, so it took a long time before he had the courage to fall in love again.
His mother - my aunt - is an elegant control freak who lives to sit in judgment.
The day Tommy brought April - his fiancée - home to meet mom, April plunked down on the sofa, pulled a beer out of her purse and sucked suds like she was shooting the shit with a diesel mechanic.
You never get a second chance to make a first impression. April looked bitchy, but she was a nice person. She was REAL. I always liked her.
Naturally, the marriage didn’t last. Well, what am I saying - it DID last. It HAS lasted, in its own strange way.
Inhaling deeply to get this out in one breath ... they married, had three kids, she met someone with more money, she and Tom divorced, she married the other guy and had another kid. Then her husband met some oriental hoochie mama, they divorced and April was on the prowl again.
It was only a matter of time before she and Tom would run into each at the pubs. One weekend they woke up together in my aunt’s guesthouse. (April would fondly remember me as the only one who literally welcomed her back to the family with open arms.)
While it was a scandal for about 48 hours, grudges do NOT run in the family; except when it comes to me.
Over time April’s fourth child was accepted as a natural member of the family. I saw him today. He’s growing up. April still looks good. Tommy looks … well … older and sad.
There’s a new grandbaby, I saw her too. She's in the photo above. I saw her looking up at the camera while seated on her Great Grandfather’s headstone; Tommy's dad's dad.
We called him Pappy. When we were kids, the families converged upon his cottage at Clear Lake in mid-Michigan.
Pappy's cabin smelled like buckwheat pancakes and pine needles. He was a sweet old guy and those were precious times - swimming and fishing until dark, going to sleep on lumpy old mattresses with sunburned backs and the Everly Brothers singing softly on the radio.
Pappy’s headstone says “gone fishin’”.
I gasped when I saw it for the first time today.
And there’s Tommy’s little granddaughter sitting on the cold flat marble. A lot of time has passed. Too much time.
Tommy and I got out of touch about four years ago. We haven’t talked since I had to ask him to leave my commercial building. Over the years he had rented from (and turned the screws to) most anyone who took him in. The family knew this, still, they asked if I’d rent to him.
Up til that time I'd always been financially solid.
So I rented to him. I was hoping it wouldn’t come back to bite me - but of course it did.
He wasn’t paying his rent, my life was falling apart and I needed a place to stay. I initially asked if I could move in with him, but he’d filled the place with assorted layabouts. It had become party central - an opium den without the opium - a beer and whiskey den in need of gasoline and a match.
I told him I couldn’t live in a place where I had to lock my bedroom door; then, when he didn’t show up to pack, I packed for him. I was desperate.
His life was falling apart due to his “illness” and bad choices - so was mine.
My Lyme Disease started resolving itself months after a move to a warmer climate and fresh air. Tommy? It looks like nothing has changed. How do I know this from 1,500 miles away?
His son Kerry is on Facebook.
Today I noticed he has two “summer ‘09” albums.
Tattoo a giant "L" for "loser" on my forehead, I snuck a peek to see what the family is up to; a pretty emotional journey for someone who never left her chair.
Not much has changed in four years.
Pappy’s cottage looks the same as it looked 50 years ago. There are adult beverages in every picture … the same favorite places, with aging faces of people I love and miss and young ones coming up that I’ll probably never meet.
This is bittersweet.
The emotional and physical distances are profound.
Naturally, the marriage didn’t last. Well, what am I saying - it DID last. It HAS lasted, in its own strange way.
Inhaling deeply to get this out in one breath ... they married, had three kids, she met someone with more money, she and Tom divorced, she married the other guy and had another kid. Then her husband met some oriental hoochie mama, they divorced and April was on the prowl again.
It was only a matter of time before she and Tom would run into each at the pubs. One weekend they woke up together in my aunt’s guesthouse. (April would fondly remember me as the only one who literally welcomed her back to the family with open arms.)
While it was a scandal for about 48 hours, grudges do NOT run in the family; except when it comes to me.
Over time April’s fourth child was accepted as a natural member of the family. I saw him today. He’s growing up. April still looks good. Tommy looks … well … older and sad.
There’s a new grandbaby, I saw her too. She's in the photo above. I saw her looking up at the camera while seated on her Great Grandfather’s headstone; Tommy's dad's dad.
We called him Pappy. When we were kids, the families converged upon his cottage at Clear Lake in mid-Michigan.
Pappy's cabin smelled like buckwheat pancakes and pine needles. He was a sweet old guy and those were precious times - swimming and fishing until dark, going to sleep on lumpy old mattresses with sunburned backs and the Everly Brothers singing softly on the radio.
Pappy’s headstone says “gone fishin’”.
I gasped when I saw it for the first time today.
And there’s Tommy’s little granddaughter sitting on the cold flat marble. A lot of time has passed. Too much time.
Tommy and I got out of touch about four years ago. We haven’t talked since I had to ask him to leave my commercial building. Over the years he had rented from (and turned the screws to) most anyone who took him in. The family knew this, still, they asked if I’d rent to him.
Up til that time I'd always been financially solid.
So I rented to him. I was hoping it wouldn’t come back to bite me - but of course it did.
He wasn’t paying his rent, my life was falling apart and I needed a place to stay. I initially asked if I could move in with him, but he’d filled the place with assorted layabouts. It had become party central - an opium den without the opium - a beer and whiskey den in need of gasoline and a match.
I told him I couldn’t live in a place where I had to lock my bedroom door; then, when he didn’t show up to pack, I packed for him. I was desperate.
His life was falling apart due to his “illness” and bad choices - so was mine.
My Lyme Disease started resolving itself months after a move to a warmer climate and fresh air. Tommy? It looks like nothing has changed. How do I know this from 1,500 miles away?
His son Kerry is on Facebook.
Today I noticed he has two “summer ‘09” albums.
Tattoo a giant "L" for "loser" on my forehead, I snuck a peek to see what the family is up to; a pretty emotional journey for someone who never left her chair.
Not much has changed in four years.
Pappy’s cottage looks the same as it looked 50 years ago. There are adult beverages in every picture … the same favorite places, with aging faces of people I love and miss and young ones coming up that I’ll probably never meet.
This is bittersweet.
The emotional and physical distances are profound.
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