under the rug

Every family has those stories that sit in the shadows. The stories that, for reasons of embarassment or politeness, rarely get told outright but that you get bits and pieces of over the years and put together like a patchquilt.

I always knew that my Grandfather's father died young and he was was raised by his mother and step-father and had a brother as well as a half-sister and a half-brother, my Uncle Mickey.

I also knew that my Great-grandmother ( Nana) raised my Grandmother and her sister in Alabama and various parts of the South during the Depression, but never really heard anything about my Nana's husband or how they eventually wound up in the East.

At a family Christmas party over the weekend, I was fortunate enough to have someone share with me a few of those stories in their entirety.

My grandfather's father was a New York City Police officer who died in an accidental shooting while cleaning his gun. In the politeness that existed before 1970, and in a world of Catholic burials and police pensions, there were quite a few stressed guys who were unfortunaely clumsy while cleaning their guns.

This left my greatgrandmother a young single mother of two young children in depression era New York. She was fortunate enough to find and marry the man who raised my granfather and is always spoken of, in family circles, as a revered figure. They had two children of their own and life continued on plesantly. As all the children were young and the couple in love, that only little thing that was a little out of place was that my granfather and his brother were of germanic descent and had dark hair and darker skin. His step brother and sister were born of a Scottish father and had blond hair and fair features.

As my great grandmother was walking to the market with the four kids in tow..this difference in the appearance of the children was pointed out by a woman out sweeping her stoop. Again, in an era of politeness...this sort of thing wasn't said, as the not so subtle implication was that the children were bastards.

My greatgrandmother responded in a manner that goes a long way to explaining the behavior of generations that have followed.

She took the broom from the woman's hands and then she beat the woman down with her own broom. Then she went to market.


EPILOGUE
Needless to say, the police were summonded and the whole mess eventually ended up in court. My greatgrandmother requested to talk to the Judge in private. Once in chambers she pulled out the shield and picture of her late husband. Before having to explain in any detail, the Judge stopped her and they returned to the courtroom. The case was dismissed and the bruised woman was chastised with a warning that should she say another word to my great-grandmother or any of the children that she would find herself the one in trouble.

( tomorrow the other side of the family)