Monday, February 13, 2012

My Grandfather's Hands

Yippy. After being sick, complaining, and missing three weeks of my ten week Monday night writing group, I showed up tonight and wrote:

I wanted to say that my grandfather could flip pancakes with his bare hands. I don’t think he ever did, but I can still feel the hardened traces of cement when he tousled me, and when he handed me the pig’s tail in a small plastic bag. I was home from school that day, privileged to have earned the soft green blanket and a double bed sheet and my own pillow neatly arranged on the living room couch. This privilege was granted only when I was sick. As long as I had a temperature, I would miss school and be cared for on the couch. My mother would make me toast and Lipton’s noodle soup and she and a tray would appear as if nothing mattered more than serving me lunch. There was nothing better than being sick on that couch. I can still see the skin colored plastic bucket on the rug, just below my head, just in case. That part, I hated. But my mother cleaned the bucket and me up as though that was a privilege too.

I was sick on the couch and my grandfather must have brought me the pig’s tail to cheer me up. It was gross even then, even though I was probably young enough when I wasn’t sick, that is, to kill ants with my magnifying glass, a feat I found absolutely amazing, how they curled up and fried on the cement walkway in not even two seconds.

It was obvious that the pig’s tail had not had time to harden, all those tiny blood soaked strings still visible, or so I remember, I could be wrong, but when my grandfather left my mother seamlessly took the plastic bag from me, never to be seen again. I never asked either. It took me thirty years to realize that it was no fluke that the pig’s tail and the fried ants were somehow related.

My childhood was idyllic by my mother’s standard, which I believed totally until I took my first psychology course in college but even now, in a certain way I still believe my mother’s version. I walked to school every winter day with my dress tucked into my snow pants and within the length of three blocks every day I successfully imagined myself to be a world famous detective, solving crimes and having movies made about me. I could not have succeeded in this role if I had not been able to tuck my dress in those snow pants, which is why I became a famous teacher in the spring and a famous actress in the fall.

I didn’t know until five years ago when I read a birth day astrology book that I was born destined to play roles, to master them and move on to another, driven as much by generosity as by my own earnest need for recognition.

I spent my summer days knowing I was lucky not to have Jeannie and Janice’s horrible mean stepmother. She wouldn’t let them wear shoes in their own house and she made everyone else take their shoes off in the kitchen. And she covered all the living room furniture with sheets of plastic, as if anyone would want to sit in there anyway, that room that seemed like it belonged in someone’s museum. Jeanie and Janice and I walked to Lowell field every summer day and we sat in the giant sandbox with its own roof.and we made potholders. I’d pick out certain colors and mix and match them and I would bring them home to my mother and she smiled and tugged at each one and told me I had made them good and sturdy. She never mentioned the colors but that was alright because I liked my colors.

My mother used my potholders until she either scorched them on the stove by mistake or they wore out. I never saw any in Jeannie and Janice’s kitchen, which was just more unnecessary proof of what a witch they had to put up with. They had an Italian grandmother who tried to shield them and that is where the potholders ended up, but even so Jeannie ended up with a nervous breakdown one summer and we all knew why.

29 comments:

  1. Oh, scorching pot holders, don't even mention it because it always makes me feel so stupid when I do.

    I guess with your grandfather's gift, it was the thought that counts, but, gee, was getting a tad senile to give a child something with blood on it?

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    1. snow, i don't know what my grandfather was thinking. he was from italy and spoke little english. maybe in the village town he was raised in a pig's tail was a highlight :^)

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  2. I'm so drawn in. It's a great bit of writing. Makes me mourn the mothering all over again though. That will always be a consequence of having the mother who wasn't. I'm remembering the Sorensen house. I haven't thought of it in forever. They had white carpets (who the hell chooses that with kids????) So there were plastic runners along all the pathways one might take through the house.

    In contrast, my other old neighbors, the Rusts, still have their white carpet that we were always allowed to roll around on. Not sure if they got new, or really know how to clean well, but it's always been white. What a nightmare. I like your colors too KJ. That's quite a crayon box you got there!

    XO

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    1. thank you annie. i remember white carpets too, a sign of the times. i hope i keep adding colors to my color box. some people write poems that inspire and teach me, as in....you! xo

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  3. Kj this was well done...well done! You have left me wondering about a few things and I am sure you can guess what they are, those things and the sudden shift from them seems intentional, but maybe that was just my imagination.

    Wander

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    1. chris, i'm wondering about what you're wondering about :^) i read this story to my writing group last night and they wondered too, felt there was more to this story. i don't know...(yet?)

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  4. I love this KJ - just love it. I can see you as a smiley happy child in that "idyllic" world and your mom is such a love!

    more later cause I'm gonna come back and read this again

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    1. ah mim, i woke up this morning to your comment, yours and pam's. they made my day. thank you. i was a happy child and i had a happy life but as an adult i now see i was screwed up too. some of that still gets in my way.... ♥

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  5. Beautiful writing, kj. You drew me right in. I love that your Grandpa brought you that to look at, but I am wondering WHY. lol! I think we would have been pals as kids. I loved pretending all sorts of things, and of course, making stuff. Happy Valentine's Day, my friend. Love love love.

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    1. thank you pam. i don't know why either, see my comment to snow. i LOVE the thought of you and i being pals back then, pam. yes, i think so too. hell, as it is, i wish you were my friend and next door neighbor (both!) now. happy valentine's day. did you get chocolate? did you eat it? all of it? :^)

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  6. great writing and memories. oh yes, I tucked my dress into snowpants too. I like the details you remember. Sad about Jeannie. Happy day, lots frosted cup cakes to you.

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    1. you did that too, suki?! i kind of thought my doing that might have been a precursor to becoming (being) a lesbian, hahaha. turns out jeannie had a miserable young adulthood and then married a wonderful man and has had a very good life.

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  7. I love stopping by your place... Such comfort here.
    Thank you for all of your kindness :)
    Sending you great big hugs and wishes of love today (and always)...
    Happy Valentines Day!

    Kristin

    p.s. I love your new header... it reminds me of a gift I still owe you...

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    1. aw kristin, you are so sweet. thank you ♥ i hope you got valentine kisses from both your guys. i'll bet you did.

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  8. Kj, This is really good, lots of layers and depth. Sad and bittersweet. Keep up the good work. xoxo

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    1. hello annie! you keep up the good work too. here's to passion!

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  9. I adore this post!
    You've gotten me out of the doldrums today,,,thank you!
    I'll be reading this again too.

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    1. hello dear babs, it's now the night of the morning and i hope your doldrums did not return. i wonder how you spent your day today....

      xoxo

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  10. beautiful writing kj, you have a gift for it. and so good you are feeling better too so you could show up to your loved group.

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    1. lori, hello sf xo. yes, i am feeling better and almost best. it's a ten week group so it was sad to miss almost a third of it. it's so much fun to write with other writers (and two songwriters). i hope you are well. i know you are busy busy and i miss you here and there. xo

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  11. Delightful. Nostalgic. Heart-remembered.

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  12. I can't tell if your grandfather feels like a mystery, or it's just a mystery why he gave you a pig's tail! Either way, I loved reading the trip down memory lane and all the vivid details you painted along the way. Good stuff, great writing.

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  13. I can remember my mother suggesting that our childhood was so much better than hers - not only an un-truth but a way of absolving herself. But my grandfather ... some very warm memories there.

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    1. cs, i saw my grandfather as kind of a huge rough man. his hands were so rough....but i think he was hardworking and kind. your mother's take is interesting and sad....xoxo

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  14. KJ, that piece of writing brought back so many childhood memories for me.

    Especially the part of you being allowed on the couch when you were sick. Being sick (aside from actually being sick) was one of my favorite times at home (especially because my mother was normally not the mothering type) - I would also get my bed made up on the couch, I would be spoiled with whatever food or drink sounded good to me, I would be cared for and fussed over and my mom would buy me a brand new book to read. I loved it!! Oh, yes, and no pig tails, but sometimes a rabbit foot for good luck...

    Glad you are feeling better!! Love, Silke

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    1. silke, isn't that interesting, that we had similiar childhoods when we were sick> i got a new comic book or two, and once, when i had my braces put on (horrible) i got TEN comic books.

      about the reply, lori told how to do it. i think i can remember but i'll check it out before i tell you. easier than i would have guessed. xo

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  15. KJ, a blog question. How did you get your comments set up so you can reply under each comment?! I have tried to figure it out and simply can't. Thanks! Silke

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