Refund please...

"You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them - Desmond Tutu" 

I’d like to give one of those ‘gifts’ back. 

  

Simple...

I have this photo that my father gave me when I was last visiting. I’ve been looking at it a lot of late. Why? Because it’s family and it interests me. It’s late 1961 and my father was due to go to Vietnam shortly after and my mother is the dark haired lady in the middle of photo between to the two larger ladies – my maternal Grandmother Elsie (left) and my paternal Grandmother Alice right.  One of the reasons this photo appeals to me is Elsie and Alice are chalk and cheese. One is the quiet country mouse Elsie who always, as the family will tell you, waited for her prince to come and some would tell you she should have waited longer. And then there’s Alice. A rough diamond, drinker and brawler who raised 13 kids in the slums and wasn’t always a good woman. And my mother. So young and completely unaware what was headed her way but clearly happy. The rest are aunts I believe.

Look at these people. In 1961 they weren’t fancy dressers. They didn’t expect much and made do with what they had without complaining. They are plain simple folk. Look at us at now. Would we go back to a time that was so simple? No. Of course we wouldn’t because we’re spoiled. Yeah. You are. I am. We all are  in the western world.

And no, I look nothing like my mother or father which, as a child, had me happily believing I was adopted until my mother, always the realist told me to snap out of it. See? Simple folk. Simple realities.        

Ne're do wells...

When I was visiting my father in hospital last week, he complained that there was no clock in the room. I went and bought one for him. When I came back the nurse said to me “Would you believe someone stole the clock off the wall?” My father and I just looked at each other and smiled. A long time ago when my grandmother was in hospital, there was an uproar as both a clock and a mat went missing. All my relatives looked innocent and I’ll be loyal and say they most probably were…sorta…kinda...you know, possibly innocent. We have some light fingered, ne’re do wells 'opportunists' in the Jones family but then everyone has strange relatives. No, I’ve never stolen a clock on a wall. I’m too short.

Family. You can love ‘em, fight ‘em, ignore ‘em, hide and pretend you’re not home when they arrive, bail ‘em out of jail or wonder if you’re adopted but they’re there and a writer can always use ‘em in a story.