uhh, My mothers family were Brights and lived in San Francisco and were known as the fun ones... Remind me of you actually... but in all our family ancestry claims Irish has not cropped up once...
The “Brights” are my dad’s family, decidedly NOT catholic, haha. Or Irish. But I was raised most of my life by the maternal side, so that’s what I know the best. I’m so glad I remind you of some of the lively ones in your family!
Boy oh boy do I know this. My grandfather died in 1937 and none of the 13 of us grandchildren ever heard a story or saw a photo of him. Grandma had scores of photos on the mantle and on the piano, but never one of him. She lived 'til 1979 and I don't recall her ever saying "my husband" or "your grandfather." Nor did I hear my father ever say "my father." And an interesting thing about it is that none of us cousins ever asked our parents about him. Somehow we all knew, in our individual families, to be as uninquisitive as logs.
Bingo! In my case, Grandfather was alive when I was a girl, and I was NEVER introduced to him as my grandpa. He was a silent man in a room at wakes and such, and my mother didn’t say one word to him or acknowledge he was her father. Not one word.
My father had an aunt with some kind of disability (that didn't stop her from loving her Manhattans) that was never defined for us; her speech was garbled. All we ever heard was "she's much better now."
was raised catholic too. conceived in the back seat of a Plymouth in Northern Minnesota in February (!!!!!) about 20 miles from Hibbing. dad's folks were Slovenian immigrant Catholics, mom was Methodist, priest made her convert or he wouldn't marry them. Jesus, how hate Holy Mother Church. quit at 17 when I first realized it was an option.
"I am going to deal with some things being wrong the rest of my life." Truer words, truer words.
Fortunately my dad was interested enough in his great grandparents to make sure to pass a few stories along about their emigration.
Unfortunately the silent treatment and estrangement continues my mom's side. I went along with it myself, I told myself, out of respect for her. Well that's one aspect that's wrong.
My own siblings and I are doing better than following in those footsteps but not by much so far. Still time to overcome some of the tendencies.
I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you “get it.” It’s deep, the Cassandra-like Catholic fatalism. I had a movie once, Mexicano, also raised Catholic at the same time, same region as me, (Southern California) and we would laugh ourselves sick at the parallel comparisons. Found the same when I worked in Québec. Talk about cross cultural kinship.
I’m glad the German side predominated in our happy little ménage. Aggression is all out in the open. Beatings will continue until morale is improved. My grandma was as Irish as anyone who ever shat on a shamrock, and she kept good and mum. What about your brother who died in the madhouse in Ohio? Mum’s the word, and the records were lost in the flood. Served God like a nun, and ended up spending her last year and a half begging him to let her die.
The funny thing is that an old friend immigrated from Santa Cruz to Ireland, and she loves it. Wish I’d got out, although maybe this way I can redeem a dissolute life by ending as a martyr to democracy.
Great piece, Susie.
PS I suspected White Oleander was based on a true story. I was all for the film version.
This is so good Susie and so right on. The Irish pretending and Irish silence was thick for us too. Now almost everyone is gone. And I just can’t pretend anymore. Im done carrying its weight and all their focking choices.
Ouch. Both for me and for you.
uhh, My mothers family were Brights and lived in San Francisco and were known as the fun ones... Remind me of you actually... but in all our family ancestry claims Irish has not cropped up once...
The “Brights” are my dad’s family, decidedly NOT catholic, haha. Or Irish. But I was raised most of my life by the maternal side, so that’s what I know the best. I’m so glad I remind you of some of the lively ones in your family!
Boy oh boy do I know this. My grandfather died in 1937 and none of the 13 of us grandchildren ever heard a story or saw a photo of him. Grandma had scores of photos on the mantle and on the piano, but never one of him. She lived 'til 1979 and I don't recall her ever saying "my husband" or "your grandfather." Nor did I hear my father ever say "my father." And an interesting thing about it is that none of us cousins ever asked our parents about him. Somehow we all knew, in our individual families, to be as uninquisitive as logs.
Bingo! In my case, Grandfather was alive when I was a girl, and I was NEVER introduced to him as my grandpa. He was a silent man in a room at wakes and such, and my mother didn’t say one word to him or acknowledge he was her father. Not one word.
My father had an aunt with some kind of disability (that didn't stop her from loving her Manhattans) that was never defined for us; her speech was garbled. All we ever heard was "she's much better now."
Let's hear it for using our voices!
Omg, you have to laff. “She’s much better now.” Classic.
Fatalism is contagious. And hereditary.
O shit.
Do go on . . .
was raised catholic too. conceived in the back seat of a Plymouth in Northern Minnesota in February (!!!!!) about 20 miles from Hibbing. dad's folks were Slovenian immigrant Catholics, mom was Methodist, priest made her convert or he wouldn't marry them. Jesus, how hate Holy Mother Church. quit at 17 when I first realized it was an option.
"I am going to deal with some things being wrong the rest of my life." Truer words, truer words.
Fortunately my dad was interested enough in his great grandparents to make sure to pass a few stories along about their emigration.
Unfortunately the silent treatment and estrangement continues my mom's side. I went along with it myself, I told myself, out of respect for her. Well that's one aspect that's wrong.
My own siblings and I are doing better than following in those footsteps but not by much so far. Still time to overcome some of the tendencies.
I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you “get it.” It’s deep, the Cassandra-like Catholic fatalism. I had a movie once, Mexicano, also raised Catholic at the same time, same region as me, (Southern California) and we would laugh ourselves sick at the parallel comparisons. Found the same when I worked in Québec. Talk about cross cultural kinship.
I’m glad the German side predominated in our happy little ménage. Aggression is all out in the open. Beatings will continue until morale is improved. My grandma was as Irish as anyone who ever shat on a shamrock, and she kept good and mum. What about your brother who died in the madhouse in Ohio? Mum’s the word, and the records were lost in the flood. Served God like a nun, and ended up spending her last year and a half begging him to let her die.
The funny thing is that an old friend immigrated from Santa Cruz to Ireland, and she loves it. Wish I’d got out, although maybe this way I can redeem a dissolute life by ending as a martyr to democracy.
Great piece, Susie.
PS I suspected White Oleander was based on a true story. I was all for the film version.
Another book for the Irish way of handling bad news, The Hunter by Tana French.
This is so good Susie and so right on. The Irish pretending and Irish silence was thick for us too. Now almost everyone is gone. And I just can’t pretend anymore. Im done carrying its weight and all their focking choices.