Kate suggested that I find out more from Aunt Pooh. “Sometimes I get the feeling that you didn’t
really know your mother.” She had a
point. I could always talk more easily
with Aunt Pooh or Aunt Judy or my grandmother.
One time, my cousin Bethany and I were discussing whether we
would rather be rich and ugly or poor and beautiful. (“How ugly?
Does that mean fat, too? If you’re
poor would you be able to get a job where you’d meet rich people?”) Aunt Pooh happened to overhear and said,
“That’s too hard. How about rich and
stupid or poor and smart?” That was easy;
poor and smart. When I had asked my
mother, she’d said, “But you’ll never be poor or ugly.”
Aunt Pooh was delighted when I asked her if Karen and Nikki
and I could come over. She loves to tell
stories, even more so if they’re true.
And it gave her a chance to bake.
This time she gave us brownies, which said insisted tasted best with
milk. (“It’s imprinted in your memories.”)
“Now, I don’t want you to be too hard on your mother, Charlie. She loved you very much. But she was never a hugger or a fusser. When she was so sick, your uncle talked to
her, to see if she needed emotional help, and asked her if she had any
unfinished business ‘just in case’. You
know how counsellors are; they can’t resist jumping in if they think someone
needs help. Anyway, she said, no, she
had insurance and she and your father weren’t in debt. When he told her that he meant emotional
business, did she needed to say anything to anybody, like you or your dad, she
said, ‘If they don’t know I love them, there’s no sense in having some deathbed
drama. It would just make everyone
uncomfortable.’ She might have been
right there. He didn’t tell me that, she
did,” she added quickly, so we wouldn’t think Uncle Joe had been
unethical. “But you know she loved you
don’t you?”
Karen and Nikki were both sitting there with their mouths
open. But they hadn’t known my mother
very well.
“In those days,” Aunt Pooh continued, “they didn’t have
ultrasounds like they do now. Your
mother told me she was really hoping you’d be a girl. She said she was only going to have one
child, so he or she would be spared having older siblings bossing them or
younger ones getting away with stuff they couldn’t and would never have to worry
whether she and their father liked the others better.”
“Classic middle child,” Karen said.
“Exactly. And she was
the only scientist in a family of artsies.
My father taught English and my mother painted. My brother is a music teacher. He was never into books that much; I guess
that’s why he agreed to give the children those names.* That upset my mother more than Louie’s
getting pregnant with a married man.”
“It probably made her feel excluded.” Karen and Nikki were in their element,
practicing amateur analysis.
“Why, I never thought of that, but I bet that’s true. She didn’t like to be out of the loop. But, of course, she didn’t interfere,
although she complained to Louie and me.
‘Those children are going to feel like outcasts in the family,’ was how
she put it. She blamed him more than
Judy. Judy and her brothers and sisters were the five J's. ”
“But didn’t Charlie’s mother read? After all she named her after the Brontes.”
“Well, that was my idea.
She wanted to name Charlie after our mother, but her name was Alice
(Alice in Wonderland, you know) and your father’s first wife’s name was Alicia. Actually, I wanted Emily Charlotte Anne, since
Emily was really the better writer, but she liked Charlotte -- the name, I
mean. She probably hadn’t even seen the
movies, since we didn’t have Netflix then.”
“What was she like?
Alicia, I mean.”
“Well, I only heard about her, but she was English, oddly
enough. From what I heard, she was
rather quiet, but it’s the quiet ones you have to watch. When they finally get mad, run. From what I heard, though, they weren’t
happy. She hated being a faculty wife; I
can’t say I blame her. My mother always
said that if she hadn’t had the outlet of her painting she would have become an
alcoholic. All the politicking and
sucking up. She said being the wife was
worse than being the faculty member.
“Now, I wasn’t so sure about your father, at first, but . .
. well, you know how he is, so literal, like your mother, so they were well
suited. And he loved her. And anyway, it wasn’t my business. And he
grew on me when I realized I’d never be able to understand him.”
Aunt Pooh brought out the albums and tried to clarify the
family for Karen and Nikki. By the time
she got to the story of when Uncle Joe met the family (“He seriously thought of
writing his dissertation on us.”), it was time to go home. Aunt Pooh gave us some brownies to take with
us for our kids. “You know, I feel like
Nelly in Wuthering Heights, when she
was telling that story. I wrote a paper
on why Emily did it that way. I know that
this isn’t your thing, Charlie, but why don’t you all come to the Solstice
Service? It’s mostly women. And we usually go out to get something to eat
afterwards.”
Karen and Nikki’s eyes lit up. We might just do it, but I won’t take the
girls. We had enough spiritual crises
this year with Cilla’s nearly going over to Rome.
*Most of the children in my mother's family were given names taken from literature, but Uncle Hank's children are Jessica, Jason, and Jennifer. Uncle Hank's name is Henry James; Aunt Judy wanted him to start calling himself H. James, but he wouldn't do it.
For more background, see "Cast of Characters". February 27, 2015.
