This is My Family
Posted: Friday, October 21, 2011
by Patricia Barbee
http://www.patriciabarbee.com
ME. One must have a definition of family in order to describe one.
In the natural sense, I am the only person left from my Mom's Cherokee
lineage. Her Dad George and family ran to the hills to hide when President
Andrew Jackson ordered the "Trail of Tears" to get the Cherokees out of Georgia.
early 1960s. As a youngster, I was always going or coming from someplace.
My pals and I used our homes for sleeping. In 1964, the pals went to the New York World's Fair, for the first time. Again, I met Odessa someplace. Because of my
job, I was able to chat for "free" with Odessa once a week for three minutes.
She was older than Mom and could not wait to be able from retire from
her job. So I did nothing to get her in trouble. She was always waiting
my call.
From home, Mom and Odessa had little to speak about except her Mom
Lucy. Lucy was older than my Grandfather George.
Odessa was also an only child and the siblings of George and Lucy died
so early in life their names are only in the Books of Heaven.
Odessa had married and birthed a son and divorced. Her son heard the
sea calling and became a merchant marine. From all over the world
Odessa had a nice collection of memorabilia I got to see on a visit to her
apartment.
December 16, 1960, Odessa was awaiting her son to be home for the holidays
in the US for the first time in years. He was a day late and no telephone call.
That day two airplanes collided over New York City. Odessa waited. No call.
She knew her son was on a ship. "No news is good news", she thought.
She heard a knock on her door. With a mother's anticipation, she opened the
door; it was her neighbor. He knew her son and was a policeman. He'd been
to the morgue assisting with the carnage from the airplanes and saw her son.
He'd died of "walking pneumonia". Odessa was never at peace. Her Mom,
was becoming "senile" as it was called in the old days. With rent control, it
was easier for Aunt Lucy to live alone and Odessa make two trips a day
to check her Mom.
I met Aunt Lucy over the Columbus holiday in October, 1964. It was my second
trip to the World's Fair. Odessa told me the words to say for Lucy to open the door. She was a gorgeous tiny lady with a long braid that she could sit on.
Conversation was a constant repeat until Odessa came in with her key.
Aunt Lucy told me that George was only five years old and I could not be his grand
daughter. I was playing a joke on her. She told me of her Dad, never called his
name, being at this forge, shoeing horses. He'd be home at dark.
Odessa prepared her Aunt Lucy a small meal. She had a hearty appetite. For dessert, she asked where her ice cream was. Odessa scooped her a dish of vanilla and as she finished the handed Odessa the dish and spoon. Odessa cleaned the kitchen as we chatted.
Thanksgiving night, Aunt Lucy died. I flew from Boston for the funeral. Lucy had only two relatives there.
1965, I with the help of my Mom's friends played a dirty trick on her. For a number of years my pals and their Moms and female relatives would take a "Women Only" Christmas shopping train from Boston's South Street Station at 7a and go to New York City for the day. We'd return from Grand Central Station at 8p. We "horrible" people stole Mom's purse and I had her wallet. Mom never wanted to go anyplace but the Cape.
All tickets for that train would be bought weeks in advance. The only men on the train were the conductors and the husband of the woman who began the tradition and his Boy Scout troop. Mom had a ticket too unknown to her.
All went to bed early that Friday night to get up early to get to the train. One of Mom's friend's part of the plan called her early to ask what she was doing the rest of the day after I left. Then I heard her go bonkers. I said, "Mom the only way you will get your purse back is to be on the train." Mom got moving fast when she realized her purse was missing. I'd handed it off to one of her friends when Mom was out of eye and ear shot.
Mom argued all the way to the train station. On our coach was the friend who called her and her pre-teen son who had a good time with the Scouts. All my pals had plenty of family. When the conductor announced we were in Rhode Island, Mom's purse came forward to her and I reached across the aisle and gave her the wallet.
In the City, our first stop was a store, she'd buy special dressy shoes by mail. Mom was treated like a queen because her name was recognized from their mailing list. I even bought a nice pair of shoes that day.
Our next stop was an automat in Times Square. Mom did not know Odessa would meet us there. The two first cousins, lost themselves in each other's arms and in tears.
Odessa stayed with us for a while and excused herself and via the subway, I took Mom to Brooklyn to see a friend Mom had not seen in maybe fifteen years. I'd seen her a number of times.
I had to think fast on my feet when Mom asked how I knew to get there without asking. I lied. I told her, telephone friends from my Fortune 500 company had told me.
I'd been skinned alive had Mom known how many times my pals and I had snuck out of Boston for a day of frivolity. Yes, we all could get around in NYC on the subway.
I am the last from the Cherokee line and when I close my eyes all the history will be
written forever.
There are a few wonderful relatives from grand-maternal non-Cherokee side and my late Dad's kin are numerous scattered all over the USA
When it is time for me to depart this earth, I've asked The Great Spirit to let my soul dance in circles in the sky like vapor from the high flying U. S. Air Force jets. I want to party to the next world.
Yes, my family is me.
To my pals; they are family.
To my Church parishioners; they are family
To my Prayer Warrior partners; they are family
To my fabulous neighbors; they are family
To those who think of me and call to say, "Hello"; they are family.
To the second and third generations behind me, with love, call me Aunt; they are family
Patricia Barbee © 2011
Patricia Barbee
WryteStuff.com
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)nice storyThanks for the love.
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