| Biographical Non-Fiction posted April 26, 2014 |
  |
Memories and Love
All My Love - Aunt Julia
by bhogg
My aunt died this week. This wasn't just any Aunt; this was my Aunt Julia, my mom's twin sister.
I woke up this morning and began thinking of how her life and mine intertwined. I didn't meet her right away. My father was in the Air Force. The first six years of my life were spent in Japan. When Dad was finally stationed in the United States, our next posting was Marietta, Georgia. Driving from California to Georgia, we met up with my aunt in Mississippi. Her husband, my Uncle Bill, was a Marine.
In 1955, travel by automobile wasn't quite as nice as today. I don't remember all the particulars of the trip, but the arrival was quite memorable. After a late evening arrival and light meal, my aunt and uncle insisted we stay the night. Their house, typical military housing, lacked in size and amenities. The first discussion was where we would all sleep. My uncle pointed to me, and my younger brother, age four and said there wasn't a problem. "I'll just hang them up on the coat-rack at the back door."
Aunt Julia most likely saw the consternation on my face and laughed. Hugging me, she said, "Don't you worry one bit. We're not going to hang you up! I'm going to make you and Bob a pallet on the floor of the family room."
Sniffling, my brother Bob asked, "What's a pallet?"
Hugging us both, she said, "You'll love a pallet. When I grew up, your momma and I shared a pallet all the time when company came. I'm going to fold a couple of quilts together for the floor, tuck you in and cover you with a blanket. It will be great fun, just like camping out."
As promised, she made the pallet up and tucked us in. She crawled in with us and read us a story; my first memory of this wonderful woman. She had three children of her own, but bent over backward to make us comfortable.
I previously mentioned she was my mom's twin sister. The word twin can mean many things, usually meaning a simultaneous arrival on earth. These two were identical twins. I don't mean they were alike, I mean identical. Just luck, but when we arrived, the hair styles were identical. For the two days we were there, they had great fun. I can hear it now, "I'm your momma. No, I'm your momma." Perhaps not a greater definition of identical twin than when your own child can't tell the difference.
So, for those of you who think I'm kind of screwed up, my aunt's partly to blame. In a very formative part of my life, when questioned, "Who's your momma?" I would have just shrugged my shoulders.
Military families are often like ships passing in the night. We got close to each other occasionally, mostly summers spent with grandparents. My aunt and uncle weren't supposed to be able to have children, so they adopted two brothers, Bill and Don. Of course, soon after, they conceived my cousin, Nancy.
I didn't know my family was poor, but we were. A high spot was when twice a year we would get a big box of hand me downs from our two male cousins. It was like Christmas.
One year, both my father and uncle were simultaneously stationed on remote tours, where the family couldn't go. My aunt and her family stayed at one grand parent's house and my mom and us children stayed with the other grand parent. We were all in LaGrange, Georgia, about three miles apart. It was a glorious year.
We were always close to the cousins, so being near one another for an entire year was special. The grandparents both lived in the country, so always creeks and ponds to swim and fish in, woods and fields to hike, and thousands of opportunities to generally engage in mischief.
One afternoon, my cousins and my older brother and I were down at the creek. For a reason I don't remember, my brother and I got in a fight. Truth be known, it didn't take much of a reason. Anyhow, I was bruised and banged up pretty good. Aunt Julia was furious. Not at my brother for beating me, but at Don, who was the oldest. She felt he should have protected me. She got a fly swatter and was going to switch them both. I asked her not to. She asked, "Why not?"
"Aunt, Julia, I didn't mind the fight today, because I thought I might win. John and I fight all the time, but I really thought today was the day."
"John is so much bigger than you."
"Yeah, but he won't always be."
She then sat me down and read me a short story based on Don Quixote. Even then, we both had a joy of reading. Until the day she died, we swapped books.
Another event from the time we were all together still sticks in my mind. It was a winter day, so not much going on outdoors. We all drove in to LaGrange to go bowling. It was not only a winter day, but a day of low humidity. I found that if I scuffed my bowling shoes across the carpet, I could create an incredible electrostatic charge. It was so intense, I swear, that after a spark you could smell ozone.
I looked for my brother, and he wasn't around, so I scuffed over to my aunt. As I got near, my body was apparently really ready to transfer electrons and hers ready to receive. When my hand got near her arm, POP, the transfer was complete.
She whirled on me, and before I could react, she kicked my butt. I mean that quite literally. Firmly grounding her trailing foot, she snapped her right foot and got me good. I suppose my aunt was a teacher too, because she said, "Let that be a lesson in life. Don't shock a woman unless you're prepared for the consequences." I took her lesson to heart.
My uncle Bill annoyed a lot of people. You've all known people where you couldn't get a word in edge-wise, that was Uncle Bill. You could be saying something, and if you paused for a breath, he would interject, "That reminds me of the time ....." It never bothered me because I'm a story teller. I loved his stories. He died about nine years ago. Three years ago, my aunt married again. She married a man I've known all my life. He picked up right where Bill left off. I actually liked his stories better. I've often wanted to record some of his stories and write them. They're that good.
Something else that my aunt shared with my mom is a love for her children. She was a loving and caring mother. I got to share that love, even as a nephew. Active in her church, and not a part time Christian. She practiced her religion frequently and very open. I had lunch with her recently and got the glare when I dove in without blessing the food.
My life is full and I'm blessed. Somehow, I feel that a huge chunk of that blessing left me early this week. Aunt Julia, I truly wish I had told you more often how much I love you.
My aunt died this week. This wasn't just any Aunt; this was my Aunt Julia, my mom's twin sister.
I woke up this morning and began thinking of how her life and mine intertwined. I didn't meet her right away. My father was in the Air Force. The first six years of my life were spent in Japan. When Dad was finally stationed in the United States, our next posting was Marietta, Georgia. Driving from California to Georgia, we met up with my aunt in Mississippi. Her husband, my Uncle Bill, was a Marine.
In 1955, travel by automobile wasn't quite as nice as today. I don't remember all the particulars of the trip, but the arrival was quite memorable. After a late evening arrival and light meal, my aunt and uncle insisted we stay the night. Their house, typical military housing, lacked in size and amenities. The first discussion was where we would all sleep. My uncle pointed to me, and my younger brother, age four and said there wasn't a problem. "I'll just hang them up on the coat-rack at the back door."
Aunt Julia most likely saw the consternation on my face and laughed. Hugging me, she said, "Don't you worry one bit. We're not going to hang you up! I'm going to make you and Bob a pallet on the floor of the family room."
Sniffling, my brother Bob asked, "What's a pallet?"
Hugging us both, she said, "You'll love a pallet. When I grew up, your momma and I shared a pallet all the time when company came. I'm going to fold a couple of quilts together for the floor, tuck you in and cover you with a blanket. It will be great fun, just like camping out."
As promised, she made the pallet up and tucked us in. She crawled in with us and read us a story; my first memory of this wonderful woman. She had three children of her own, but bent over backward to make us comfortable.
I previously mentioned she was my mom's twin sister. The word twin can mean many things, usually meaning a simultaneous arrival on earth. These two were identical twins. I don't mean they were alike, I mean identical. Just luck, but when we arrived, the hair styles were identical. For the two days we were there, they had great fun. I can hear it now, "I'm your momma. No, I'm your momma." Perhaps not a greater definition of identical twin than when your own child can't tell the difference.
So, for those of you who think I'm kind of screwed up, my aunt's partly to blame. In a very formative part of my life, when questioned, "Who's your momma?" I would have just shrugged my shoulders.
Military families are often like ships passing in the night. We got close to each other occasionally, mostly summers spent with grandparents. My aunt and uncle weren't supposed to be able to have children, so they adopted two brothers, Bill and Don. Of course, soon after, they conceived my cousin, Nancy.
I didn't know my family was poor, but we were. A high spot was when twice a year we would get a big box of hand me downs from our two male cousins. It was like Christmas.
One year, both my father and uncle were simultaneously stationed on remote tours, where the family couldn't go. My aunt and her family stayed at one grand parent's house and my mom and us children stayed with the other grand parent. We were all in LaGrange, Georgia, about three miles apart. It was a glorious year.
We were always close to the cousins, so being near one another for an entire year was special. The grandparents both lived in the country, so always creeks and ponds to swim and fish in, woods and fields to hike, and thousands of opportunities to generally engage in mischief.
One afternoon, my cousins and my older brother and I were down at the creek. For a reason I don't remember, my brother and I got in a fight. Truth be known, it didn't take much of a reason. Anyhow, I was bruised and banged up pretty good. Aunt Julia was furious. Not at my brother for beating me, but at Don, who was the oldest. She felt he should have protected me. She got a fly swatter and was going to switch them both. I asked her not to. She asked, "Why not?"
"Aunt, Julia, I didn't mind the fight today, because I thought I might win. John and I fight all the time, but I really thought today was the day."
"John is so much bigger than you."
"Yeah, but he won't always be."
She then sat me down and read me a short story based on Don Quixote. Even then, we both had a joy of reading. Until the day she died, we swapped books.
Another event from the time we were all together still sticks in my mind. It was a winter day, so not much going on outdoors. We all drove in to LaGrange to go bowling. It was not only a winter day, but a day of low humidity. I found that if I scuffed my bowling shoes across the carpet, I could create an incredible electrostatic charge. It was so intense, I swear, that after a spark you could smell ozone.
I looked for my brother, and he wasn't around, so I scuffed over to my aunt. As I got near, my body was apparently really ready to transfer electrons and hers ready to receive. When my hand got near her arm, POP, the transfer was complete.
She whirled on me, and before I could react, she kicked my butt. I mean that quite literally. Firmly grounding her trailing foot, she snapped her right foot and got me good. I suppose my aunt was a teacher too, because she said, "Let that be a lesson in life. Don't shock a woman unless you're prepared for the consequences." I took her lesson to heart.
My uncle Bill annoyed a lot of people. You've all known people where you couldn't get a word in edge-wise, that was Uncle Bill. You could be saying something, and if you paused for a breath, he would interject, "That reminds me of the time ....." It never bothered me because I'm a story teller. I loved his stories. He died about nine years ago. Three years ago, my aunt married again. She married a man I've known all my life. He picked up right where Bill left off. I actually liked his stories better. I've often wanted to record some of his stories and write them. They're that good.
Something else that my aunt shared with my mom is a love for her children. She was a loving and caring mother. I got to share that love, even as a nephew. Active in her church, and not a part time Christian. She practiced her religion frequently and very open. I had lunch with her recently and got the glare when I dove in without blessing the food.
My life is full and I'm blessed. Somehow, I feel that a huge chunk of that blessing left me early this week. Aunt Julia, I truly wish I had told you more often how much I love you.
I woke up this morning and began thinking of how her life and mine intertwined. I didn't meet her right away. My father was in the Air Force. The first six years of my life were spent in Japan. When Dad was finally stationed in the United States, our next posting was Marietta, Georgia. Driving from California to Georgia, we met up with my aunt in Mississippi. Her husband, my Uncle Bill, was a Marine.
In 1955, travel by automobile wasn't quite as nice as today. I don't remember all the particulars of the trip, but the arrival was quite memorable. After a late evening arrival and light meal, my aunt and uncle insisted we stay the night. Their house, typical military housing, lacked in size and amenities. The first discussion was where we would all sleep. My uncle pointed to me, and my younger brother, age four and said there wasn't a problem. "I'll just hang them up on the coat-rack at the back door."
Aunt Julia most likely saw the consternation on my face and laughed. Hugging me, she said, "Don't you worry one bit. We're not going to hang you up! I'm going to make you and Bob a pallet on the floor of the family room."
Sniffling, my brother Bob asked, "What's a pallet?"
Hugging us both, she said, "You'll love a pallet. When I grew up, your momma and I shared a pallet all the time when company came. I'm going to fold a couple of quilts together for the floor, tuck you in and cover you with a blanket. It will be great fun, just like camping out."
As promised, she made the pallet up and tucked us in. She crawled in with us and read us a story; my first memory of this wonderful woman. She had three children of her own, but bent over backward to make us comfortable.
I previously mentioned she was my mom's twin sister. The word twin can mean many things, usually meaning a simultaneous arrival on earth. These two were identical twins. I don't mean they were alike, I mean identical. Just luck, but when we arrived, the hair styles were identical. For the two days we were there, they had great fun. I can hear it now, "I'm your momma. No, I'm your momma." Perhaps not a greater definition of identical twin than when your own child can't tell the difference.
So, for those of you who think I'm kind of screwed up, my aunt's partly to blame. In a very formative part of my life, when questioned, "Who's your momma?" I would have just shrugged my shoulders.
Military families are often like ships passing in the night. We got close to each other occasionally, mostly summers spent with grandparents. My aunt and uncle weren't supposed to be able to have children, so they adopted two brothers, Bill and Don. Of course, soon after, they conceived my cousin, Nancy.
I didn't know my family was poor, but we were. A high spot was when twice a year we would get a big box of hand me downs from our two male cousins. It was like Christmas.
One year, both my father and uncle were simultaneously stationed on remote tours, where the family couldn't go. My aunt and her family stayed at one grand parent's house and my mom and us children stayed with the other grand parent. We were all in LaGrange, Georgia, about three miles apart. It was a glorious year.
We were always close to the cousins, so being near one another for an entire year was special. The grandparents both lived in the country, so always creeks and ponds to swim and fish in, woods and fields to hike, and thousands of opportunities to generally engage in mischief.
One afternoon, my cousins and my older brother and I were down at the creek. For a reason I don't remember, my brother and I got in a fight. Truth be known, it didn't take much of a reason. Anyhow, I was bruised and banged up pretty good. Aunt Julia was furious. Not at my brother for beating me, but at Don, who was the oldest. She felt he should have protected me. She got a fly swatter and was going to switch them both. I asked her not to. She asked, "Why not?"
"Aunt, Julia, I didn't mind the fight today, because I thought I might win. John and I fight all the time, but I really thought today was the day."
"John is so much bigger than you."
"Yeah, but he won't always be."
She then sat me down and read me a short story based on Don Quixote. Even then, we both had a joy of reading. Until the day she died, we swapped books.
Another event from the time we were all together still sticks in my mind. It was a winter day, so not much going on outdoors. We all drove in to LaGrange to go bowling. It was not only a winter day, but a day of low humidity. I found that if I scuffed my bowling shoes across the carpet, I could create an incredible electrostatic charge. It was so intense, I swear, that after a spark you could smell ozone.
I looked for my brother, and he wasn't around, so I scuffed over to my aunt. As I got near, my body was apparently really ready to transfer electrons and hers ready to receive. When my hand got near her arm, POP, the transfer was complete.
She whirled on me, and before I could react, she kicked my butt. I mean that quite literally. Firmly grounding her trailing foot, she snapped her right foot and got me good. I suppose my aunt was a teacher too, because she said, "Let that be a lesson in life. Don't shock a woman unless you're prepared for the consequences." I took her lesson to heart.
My uncle Bill annoyed a lot of people. You've all known people where you couldn't get a word in edge-wise, that was Uncle Bill. You could be saying something, and if you paused for a breath, he would interject, "That reminds me of the time ....." It never bothered me because I'm a story teller. I loved his stories. He died about nine years ago. Three years ago, my aunt married again. She married a man I've known all my life. He picked up right where Bill left off. I actually liked his stories better. I've often wanted to record some of his stories and write them. They're that good.
Something else that my aunt shared with my mom is a love for her children. She was a loving and caring mother. I got to share that love, even as a nephew. Active in her church, and not a part time Christian. She practiced her religion frequently and very open. I had lunch with her recently and got the glare when I dove in without blessing the food.
My life is full and I'm blessed. Somehow, I feel that a huge chunk of that blessing left me early this week. Aunt Julia, I truly wish I had told you more often how much I love you.
 Recognized |
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. bhogg All rights reserved.
bhogg has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
