thanksgiving. boring, or rather, damascus (oregon's, possibly the nation's, newest incorporated city). parents' home. was at work all morning and was in the process of falling asleep. there's a fire and my belly is full. my father sits down in the center of the room, leans back, puts his arms behind his head and says, "i've got something that'll get your attention." everyone in the room quiets down. i sit up. "did you know i have a half-sister?" my mind races. grandma? no. grandpa? no. how is this possible? something isn't right. all my personal ideology of paternal family is upside down. it turns out my grandfather became a father at the age of 15, waaaaaay back in the 30's, years before he and my grandmother met. the girl lived across the street, part of another norweigian-american family. they moved a couple miles away after the birth and her parents adopted the child (carolle). my grandfather left school for a year, now presumably to help child support. the families lost contact. my great-grandparents died. grandpa's cousin died. his brother died and the cousin's son died. my grandfather was always close-lipped about his youth and passed away shortly after i expressed interest in his life (three years ago). the mystery was kept to the grave. carolle was well-informed about her origins (i suppose, apparently her mother's family liked her father's) but never sought anything out. they bought newspapers from my great-uncle (a lifelong parapeligic who also fixed electronics for goodwill) but what communication passed between we never knew. a few months ago, she decided to track my grandfather down. she couldn't find any information on him, but found my uncle's address instead. she came to portland and a cousin drove her to his home, where he was working in the yard when they pulled up. he ambles over to the car, presuming they were lost, but instead the story tumbles out of her mouth, one word after another. i have a half-aunt. she's old enough to be my father's mother. she's 5'9" and lives in arizona. that's all i know. such a strange thing. |
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dammit...i was hoping J was my long lost aunt in AZ. |
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i ate goose on thanksgiving. it was not cooked by my uncle. i did learn though, that my brother is still seeing his meth-head, trailer trash girlfriend even though she is in jail after blowing up her house/methlab and he will probably marry her when she gets out. he doesnt tough the stuff, just smokes more pot than he probably should. to quote him "shes changed a lot". well yeah dipshit, meth, explosions and a jail term will do that to people. doesnt mean its a sound decision on your part. |