Bring On The Bumps

My grandfather Malcolm was a farmer. He was born and raised in rural Statesville, Tennessee (about 70 miles east of Nashville), where he met and married my grandmother Eunice. The couple had two boys, my uncle Gene and my father Ray. Sometime around 1940, Malcolm fell in with the wrong crowd. In particular a man named Alvin Robinson, with whom Malcolm frequently stayed out all night drinking and running around with fast women. Eunice was a religious woman who would have none of Malcolm’s bad behavior. I don’t know the details of their interpersonal conflicts that arose from this situation. I can only assume it was a very difficult time for all parties involved. What I do know is that Eunice packed up her boys and headed north to Cincinnati, Ohio, where she had a sister who helped her find employment there. The two of them sewed parachutes by hand for the United States armed services, who were soon to be engaged in conflict overseas.

After relocating from the hills of Tennessee to downtown Cincinnati in 1942, my father got his first pair of shoes. He was eight years old.

When my Granny left her home state of Tennessee with her two young boys all those years ago, I seriously doubt that she saw any bright side to her situation. It was a fresh start for her, but it was under extremely difficult circumstances that were not of her choosing. In the end, she raised two fine young sons and though my father was no angel, he was a great dad. The dust settles. Time marches on. And family bonds remain strong as ever. When I was a kid, my dad took us on regular trips to visit my grandpa Malcolm and the rest of his family in Tennessee, planting the seeds of a bond that grows stronger every year, and I shall forever feel connected to my relatives there. Though I myself was raised in Ohio, there is a feeling that washes over me like a warm emotional embrace whenever I am in Tennessee. I believe it is my spiritual home.

In spite of the turmoil that led to their separation all those years ago, something tells me that both Granny and Malcolm would be proud and pleased to know this about me. After Granny left Statesville she didn’t return to the area for over 50 years, when she decided to brave one final pass through her hometown for an annual reunion ceremony in the local hillside graveyard. Malcolm lived there until he died.

When Malcolm’s demons took hold all those years ago and his family broke apart as a result, the pain and confusion and subsequent loneliness must have left him with feelings so terrible that we can only imagine. But over the years he started a new family and Granny re-married too. I have aunts and uncles and cousins and other not-so distant relatives who now have only love and respect for Malcolm. And Granny raised their boys to be fine fathers who raised children of their own.

For all the pain and anguish that resulted from Malcolm’s irresponsible behavior, I certainly would not be here today if Granny had not left for Ohio where her son Ray would meet and marry my mom. My loving sister and her amazing kids would never have come into this world. And my adopted brother Jeff, who has been an inspiration to my entire family, well, he would have been fostered out and eventually adopted by someone else if things had gone any other way. After Granny left Tennessee, Malcolm eventually started a second family that would grow over the years to include aunts, uncles and cousins who I love dearly, with whom I share countless childhood memories, and who I consider my cherished kinfolk back “home” in Tennessee.

Here is what I was meditating on this morning that led me to write this:

The mind reels contemplating the countless positive repercussions that can potentially arise from negative things that happen in our lives. I am trying to avoid using the old cliché “everything happens for a reason”, but my overall message here may in fact be a re-phrasing of that very sentiment. Malcolm’s misbehavior that created a personal Hell for Granny, the boys, and indeed Malcolm himself, would eventually transform them all into an even larger extended family full of love and respect, with an infinite number of fond memories and happy times.

When bad things happen, we often find ourselves consumed by negative thoughts and completely unable to comprehend how any good can come from a bad situation. The truth is that first wave of acknowledging unpleasant circumstances is supposed to be that way. Sometimes we instinctively retreat into egoic thinking as a means of self-preservation and protection when unpleasant circumstances threaten our sense of security. We simply cannot assimilate unhappy news with a smile. That’s just not how it works. But maybe there is a lesson to be learned from an unpleasant occurrence in everyone’s past. Bad stuff happens. But good stuff often results. Not every time. But if you think on it a moment you might come up with more than one example from your personal life or family history.

I’m not happy that Malcolm did what he did back in 1940. And I lament anything that ever brought sorrow and pain to my Granny, the sweetest woman who ever lived. But I find myself meditating on the way things played out back then and how the family evolved over the years, and I am grateful that everyone did exactly what they did. Their triumphs and failures, their successes and their missteps. All were meant to be. The road they travelled was full of unforeseen twists and unpleasant turns. They endured through trials and tribulations that were so difficult they are beyond my comprehension.

I’m far from home as I write this. Everyone knows that can be difficult at times. Sometimes it’s a bumpy road I travel. But in my heart I know it’s nothing compared to what my father’s family went through. To say nothing of what my mother’s family endured in their harrowing escape of post-war Germany, a fascinating tale which I do not feel the least bit equipped to write about at this time, but I hope to delve into sometime in the future.

I now have a greater appreciation of the bumps in the road and in fact I’m grateful for them. I would not even be here to experience those bumps if it were not for the far greater traumas endured by my family and that, indeed, led over time to shape and define an extended family that I love deeply and will forever cherish. It helps me to remember that, even on my worst days, I am blessed. - RH journal entry from July 2012