Grandma says: Honor your family
In my mind, Grandma Fannie was the matriarch of the family. It seemed as if no matter what squabbles might be temporarily separating people or how critical some family members were of each other, when Grandma Fannie announced a family gathering nearly everyone showed up. In the memory of the young man which is now housed in the body of this old man, it was not unusual for dozens of people to be gathered inside the home she and Grandpa built, in the large yard bordered by whatever flowers were in season, or at the cemetery on Memorial Day . The gathering might be on a holiday or it might be have been to celebrate the homecoming of a family members who lived in California, Washington, D.C. or some other distant place. Although others certainly did their share of food preparation, recording of family history or other tasks which directly or indirectly honored the many generations, living and dead, it seemed to be Grandma Fannie, the acknowledged matriarch, who issued the call to gather. There was limited use of the telephone and more liberal use of snail mail to facilitate communication. Some family members lived relatively close together and might have communicated in person, but there was certainly no texting, email, instant messaging or even use of ancient methods such as smoke signals as far as I knew. Yet everyone received the call.
As I look at photographs of some of these gatherings I am also struck by the fact that everyone seemed to don their Sunday best whatever that was. The costumes for Uncle Nealus and his family who were “town folk” were different than those of Uncle Happy and Aunt Pleasie who were country folk, but they were all dressed as if they were gathering with the most important people in the world. I am not sure that they would have dressed differently for dinner at the White House or the Governor’s Mansion. Aunt Bullah might have come directly from church, but I suspect honoring family was not that much different than honoring God. Of course, I do not mean to imply that Aunt Bullah was elevating humans to the level of God but, in her mind, humans were God’s children and one was commanded to love all of God’s children. Although I am sure that there were racist and other discriminatory thoughts and beliefs at these gathering of Native Americans, “white folks” and all blood percentages in between, I suspect if someone had shown up with a DNA family lineage showing the extent of African American and other blood connections, they would have been welcomed. I am not sure what folks might or might not have said after the gathering, but there was no question in my young mind that when Grandma Fannie said “Honor your family” one better be nice to all one’s cousins, suffer the kisses of the aunts without in their presence wiping them away and stand still for the messing of the hair by the Uncles. These were family.
Family included spouses and I am sure anyone who was visiting said relatives or anyone who happened by. If the local minister happened by I am sure he was treated the same as other family members.
In my mind, the patriarch of the family was not Grandpa Ed who was married to Grandma Fannie but Uncle Happy. It is interesting that I do not think of Aunt Pleasie, Uncle Happy’s wife who I adored, as the vice-matriarch although I always think in terms of visiting Aunt Pleasie and Uncle Harold. For whatever reason Uncle Harold has been attached to the cell in my brain labeled as supreme patriarch.
I have not lived geographically close to my relatives since the fall of 1958 although I attended quite a number of family gatherings when I returned for subsequent visits. Grandma Fannie, Grandpa Ed, Uncle Harold, Aunt Pleasie, Uncle Nealus, Aunt Helen, Aunt Josie (technically a cousin I think), Aunt Velma, Uncle Bill, Aunt Ruby and the rest of that generation of Picketts, Scotts, Holemans and others now wait to be honored at the cemetery. If there is a matriarch it is my sister Bonnie and those gatherings include a limited circle of family members and none of the extended family members. I occasionally have a Facebook messenger note from a cousin as I did yesterday from cousin Norman (son of Uncle Nealus and Aunt Helen) but, for the most part, the term family has shrunk. Yet, when I do hear from someone or have an opportunity to say hello I assure them that the door is open, the coffee pot on and the guest room has clean sheets. Grandma Fannie’s is right there directing my words and actions. The Keurig coffee pot has replaced the metal one which first percolated on the stove and later was plugged into the electric outlet. The sheets no longer smell of the air from being hung to dry on the line. I now understand more fully that honor your family includes all of God’s children of all races, religions, sexual orientations, ages, cultures and political beliefs. I know that if the political candidate I most did not want to win showed up at my door, Grandma Fannie would be whispering in my ear, “Honor your family. Watch your manners young man. Open that door and your arms. This is family.” Perhaps she did not really respect them but, for that moment, she in including them in her idea of family.
Written April 3, 2017
In my mind, Grandma Fannie was the matriarch of the family. It seemed as if no matter what squabbles might be temporarily separating people or how critical some family members were of each other, when Grandma Fannie announced a family gathering nearly everyone showed up. In the memory of the young man which is now housed in the body of this old man, it was not unusual for dozens of people to be gathered inside the home she and Grandpa built, in the large yard bordered by whatever flowers were in season, or at the cemetery on Memorial Day . The gathering might be on a holiday or it might be have been to celebrate the homecoming of a family members who lived in California, Washington, D.C. or some other distant place. Although others certainly did their share of food preparation, recording of family history or other tasks which directly or indirectly honored the many generations, living and dead, it seemed to be Grandma Fannie, the acknowledged matriarch, who issued the call to gather. There was limited use of the telephone and more liberal use of snail mail to facilitate communication. Some family members lived relatively close together and might have communicated in person, but there was certainly no texting, email, instant messaging or even use of ancient methods such as smoke signals as far as I knew. Yet everyone received the call.
As I look at photographs of some of these gatherings I am also struck by the fact that everyone seemed to don their Sunday best whatever that was. The costumes for Uncle Nealus and his family who were “town folk” were different than those of Uncle Happy and Aunt Pleasie who were country folk, but they were all dressed as if they were gathering with the most important people in the world. I am not sure that they would have dressed differently for dinner at the White House or the Governor’s Mansion. Aunt Bullah might have come directly from church, but I suspect honoring family was not that much different than honoring God. Of course, I do not mean to imply that Aunt Bullah was elevating humans to the level of God but, in her mind, humans were God’s children and one was commanded to love all of God’s children. Although I am sure that there were racist and other discriminatory thoughts and beliefs at these gathering of Native Americans, “white folks” and all blood percentages in between, I suspect if someone had shown up with a DNA family lineage showing the extent of African American and other blood connections, they would have been welcomed. I am not sure what folks might or might not have said after the gathering, but there was no question in my young mind that when Grandma Fannie said “Honor your family” one better be nice to all one’s cousins, suffer the kisses of the aunts without in their presence wiping them away and stand still for the messing of the hair by the Uncles. These were family.
Family included spouses and I am sure anyone who was visiting said relatives or anyone who happened by. If the local minister happened by I am sure he was treated the same as other family members.
In my mind, the patriarch of the family was not Grandpa Ed who was married to Grandma Fannie but Uncle Happy. It is interesting that I do not think of Aunt Pleasie, Uncle Happy’s wife who I adored, as the vice-matriarch although I always think in terms of visiting Aunt Pleasie and Uncle Harold. For whatever reason Uncle Harold has been attached to the cell in my brain labeled as supreme patriarch.
I have not lived geographically close to my relatives since the fall of 1958 although I attended quite a number of family gatherings when I returned for subsequent visits. Grandma Fannie, Grandpa Ed, Uncle Harold, Aunt Pleasie, Uncle Nealus, Aunt Helen, Aunt Josie (technically a cousin I think), Aunt Velma, Uncle Bill, Aunt Ruby and the rest of that generation of Picketts, Scotts, Holemans and others now wait to be honored at the cemetery. If there is a matriarch it is my sister Bonnie and those gatherings include a limited circle of family members and none of the extended family members. I occasionally have a Facebook messenger note from a cousin as I did yesterday from cousin Norman (son of Uncle Nealus and Aunt Helen) but, for the most part, the term family has shrunk. Yet, when I do hear from someone or have an opportunity to say hello I assure them that the door is open, the coffee pot on and the guest room has clean sheets. Grandma Fannie’s is right there directing my words and actions. The Keurig coffee pot has replaced the metal one which first percolated on the stove and later was plugged into the electric outlet. The sheets no longer smell of the air from being hung to dry on the line. I now understand more fully that honor your family includes all of God’s children of all races, religions, sexual orientations, ages, cultures and political beliefs. I know that if the political candidate I most did not want to win showed up at my door, Grandma Fannie would be whispering in my ear, “Honor your family. Watch your manners young man. Open that door and your arms. This is family.” Perhaps she did not really respect them but, for that moment, she in including them in her idea of family.
Written April 3, 2017
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