Inequities of the Father

The last time my Uncle and I spoke more then forty words it was under dire circumstances which doesn't lend itself to much sharing of stories, just what' s needed at the moment. That would be 1983. We both were involved in a family interview (over my Mom) at Butler hospital and that wasn't all that fun.

The other two times where forty words were spoken between us were funerals. But that happens at them right? You run into someone you haven't seen in a while and it becomes Old Home Week.

Yesterday I spent eight hours in a nice, modest home in Rehoboth going over every possible thing I could remember, any detail, or half story he could have filled me in on about the families. Not only that, he was an adult observer to the many goings on in my family whereas I was just a kid or young teen.

Why weren't we talking?

“Ronnie, your Dad, Mom were very private people, few words and defended their cloistered worlds to the end. They've always been like that, as far back as I can remember.” Joe tells me.

This is true, I think my Dad had but one friend in his life and that was his co-worker at First Federal. My Mom had none but Dad and that was her world. Because it was like this our family rarely visited the other relatives, even though they were no more than 9 miles away. When your a kid, you have little recourse but to do as your parents say. These circumstances were “normal” to me as I was born into them.

But I found out some killer stories.

Apparently I had no idea that my Mom's Dad was completely against the marriage of his daughter to my Dad. It was so bad that he wasn't going to give his daughter (my Mom) away at the wedding.

Joe tells me:

“Ronnie, your grandfather, my dad, was one of those hard working, hard drinking Irish men of back then. He drank, but also provided for his family, but many of the first wave Irish immigrants did. But above all, he was a Catholic.

“You did know your Dad was an Anglican...Right?...Protestant Irish?”

I look at Joe with some dull surprise and said, “No.....”

“He was...and when he started dating your Mom, my Dad was ripping pissed off. No girl of his was going to associate with a scumbag Protestant. However, your Mom and Dad managed to keep this relationship going till they became married.”

He tells me this.

“I saw this on numerous occasions. Your Dad and Mom would sit on the couch, watch TV and that's how you “dated” back then, by spending time together like that. My Dad, coming home from the bar stumbled upon those two when he entered the house and upon seeing your Dad, shouts rather loudly...and I remember it clearly:”

“GIT OOT OF MY HOUSE YOU FOOKIN' PROT BASTARD! DOON'T EVER TALK TO MY GARL AGIN!!”

“Your Dad left w/o causing a scene or a fight. He never did want a confrontation with our family. He figured if he got into a fist fight with our dad, that would kill any hope of his staying with Maureen. Your Dad was an expert politician too...he manage to walk through many fires w/o so much as being burned.”

Joe goes on. “Our Dad couldn't stop your Dad or Mom from seeing one another, they snuck behind his back, got his wife to eventually 'bless it' and one day, your Dad proposed to you Mom. When our Dad found out, he refused to go the the church to give your Mom away.”

“You have to understand Ronnie, your grandfather was raised in County Monaghan about five miles from the border of Northern Ireland..he saw a ton of shit during the rebellions...he'd strangle an Englishman with his hands if he could...Protestants were worse than child molesters.”

Apparently my grandfather was good to his word up until 18 hours before the marriage when he caved in and did go to the wedding. Why he changed his mind is unknown.

“Your Dad swore off Anglicanism, did some special dispensation with the Catholic parish and I'm not sure of it completely, but managed to convince the priest to marry a nominal protestant to a catholic girl.”

“The one thing that made our Dad happier about it all, your Dad let you two kids, Kenny and you, be raised Catholic.”

“Even with that though, our dad, your grandfather, said about 54 words to your Dad here on out, till the day he died.”

I never knew this.

**

If you read this blog, you will know my Mom suffered from decades of depression and how I had to prop her up emotionally for the same amount of time. I had to ask Joe, where there any signs of this prior to us kids being born? Was she like this long ago. He had said no but there was one thing that always perturbed him.

“Ronnie, you remember anything from 1973 and your Mom?” I had claimed nothing stood out.

“Your Mom underwent ECT therapy then....I think, but I can't prove it was the ECT, but she was never the same after it. There was always something “off” about her then.

I tried to remember that time and all I could come up with was that she was stoned on Valium seven days a week on Dr's orders. Then again, you have to understand, this was normal home life for me, it was always was like this. Plus I was kept in the dark about any medical treatments my Mom was going through. 1973 wasn't one of those years where advancements in psychotherapy either.

Here's ECT therapy in action, a bit from One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest. Careful, it's rough!

Again, I never knew...

**

As we were talking, I had to tell Joe that one of the most fun, memorable moments I could remember about our families, when they were tighter, were his Christmas Eve parties that the threw at his house. When they first started, we kids were well behaved and quiet. But we kids also knew this. All we had to do was wait till the adults started drinking. In about an hour we'd know the parents would completely give up on their supervision and my cousins and I could tear through the house like Vikings hitting a seaside village. We tore through that house so much we were sweating.

So, I'll have to keep in touch, the sins of the father/mother/whoever shouldn't be visited upon the child.