Following up on Anne’s theory that many of our “normal relatives” have their own strange stories, I offer some about my family.
Our Grandpa Herb could swallow kitchen knives. It was a real performance, where he carefully showed us how there was nothing up his sleeve. Then he would lift it high above his head and bring the knife down to his mouth. I have no idea where he learned how to do this, but as a young child I will never forget him showing us his skill after Sunday’s roast beef dinner, which our family regularly attended. I could never see how he did it. He must have dropped it under his shirt, but it was invisible to us children.
This grandfather had a strange sense of humour, and could tell stories with such a straight face no one knew if it was true or not. He passed away at 50 when I was 11. It was a heart attack. He was on a fishing trip, and was laughing and. joking with his friends, and then he was dead. It was a shock to everyone. My grandmother had to go to work. She still had three children at home, two of them teenagers and one who had just graduated.
Another story Grandpa told us was about ”Uncle Joe”, who was not a real relative and never really existed. I never understood the whole story, but the ending was that he ended up losing an arm and a leg, and going out on the lake by himself. Uncle Joe lost one of the oars, so he couldn’t make it back. He ended up paddling in circles around Lake Ontario. However, another day, our Uncle Bert, who was real and only 5 years older than me, took us upstairs to see where Uncle Joe lived. The attic was his and Pip’s bedroom, but half of the area was unfinished. We were a little afraid as we went up the stairs carrying a huge flashlight and looked in the little doorway to see this very dark area with studs, but strangely enough, no sign of Uncle Joe.
One day Grandpa Herb made a shopping list: bread, milk and organ. He took my sister Lynn along to a bargain department store, Honest Ed’s. I don’t know if he brought back the bread and milk, but they did bring home an organ. There was a special present as well for us: 2 dolls wearing black and white striped outfits with a cap. Our grandfather had to argue with the salesman to get two, because the organ only came with one doll. My grandfather said ”I have two grandchildren, and I can’t return with only one doll.” and the salesman gave in. My grandparents always tried to be fair to us.
My grandmother’s sister Doris was married to a man named Jack who worked in the post office. We were always warned to be quiet when visiting because he worked on the night shift, and was sleeping. They had two daughters, Judy and Shirley. Judy was my age. In fact she was only 6 days older than me, and my mom’s aunt Doris visited my mom in the hospital before she (Doris) went home. Judy and I were both born in the Toronto East General Hospital, and Uncle Lorne was the doctor who delivered us both. Uncle Lorne was married to my grandfather’s sister Laura, who was the one who gave us such wonderful presents as children. The most memorable were two 3-foot dolls dressed in Lucky Green stamp green. Lynn and I were overwhelmed with joy to receive such enormous dolls. Laura had diabetes, and died of a stroke when she was 60.
When I was maybe 9 or 10, Judy choose me to go on a trip to see my grandmother’s and Judy’s mother’s sister Freda in Detroit. This was exciting. I had never been in a foreign country, and this was my chance. And I have to admit I really liked being chosen to go. I don’t remember Detroit much, but I do remember Judy and I pretending to be asleep while we crossed the border, and getting up with a laugh after we got through. Aunt Freda lived on a farm and grew apples. One of the great uncles drove us to see some houses that had been hit by a hurricane, my first exposure to that kind of weather. On the way back we took a huge bag of apples from the sister’s farm, and some groceries. When asked what we were bringing, my grandmother said “apples from my sister’s farm“, and didn’t mention the groceries. She later explained to me that if he had asked if there was anything else she would have told him about the groceries. I was a real stickler for following the rules as a child.
Now all these relatives have passed away, including Judy and Shirley’s parents and our dad, Our mother has vascular dementia. When visiting Toronto, I try to connect with Judy and Shirley, and Lynn and I have tea with them. It is nice to be with people with whom we had those long ago experiences.
Our Uncle Pip is another character. He studied painting, and had a show at a small art gallery. The paintings were all black and white characters from art history. The paintings he couldn’t sell ended up in our living room / dining room, which was large enough to handle the large canvases. When my brother was maybe eight, he and all the other little boys were eating their cake around the dining room table when one of the boys said loudly: “There’s a naked man in that picture!“ The other children also looked carefully. Sure enough, one of the myths that were depicted was a naked man. The paintings had been on our wall for a long time, and they weren’t that strange to us.
Pip also organized a house painting party in our house. He and his friends came to our house with their paint and painted pictures all over our family room. It got a little wild, so I picked up a paint brush and painted a strange red monster on the wall. One painter painted a lovely abstract type painting on the ceiling. After they all went home, our uncle Bert came in and painted all kinds of angry things about my father on the wall. Pip came around the next week and we all helped paint the family room an off-white colour, with the exception of the ceiling painting. We all agreed it was a good addition to the room.
Pip became a teacher and married a teacher. He taught Home Economics and did needlepoint as a way to relax. Ken once found a little article about him in some magazine.. They started a small business of making decorations. He and his wife made some beautiful, carefully- crafted pieces, which they sold especially at Christmas time. They had a lovely house near Casa Loma (a Toronto castle). One day a truck came by and delivered oil to their house. Unfortunately the oil tank had been removed from the house, and the truck driver had mistaken the address. I think the house had to be demolished.
Another sister of my grandmother, Aunt Flo, had disappeared for some years, and then returned with a daughter, Vicky. She eventually married Mac, and had a son who always sent us Christmas cards even though we never remembered who he was. We visited them at Christmas, another strange visitation. Mac and Kevin never said a word to us, and Vicky was older visiting with the adults. We sat there not sure what to do. It was very awkward.
Many years later my grandmother came home from work one night and a man and woman walked up to her. They said “Are you Kay Thornber?” She said “Yes”. They said “We think you are our aunt.” Grandma invited them in and learned that when her sister Flo had disappeared, she had had four other children and given them away for adoption. The strangers were two of the children. They had already found the other two children, and were searching for their mother. Grandma called up Flo, and they had a reunion that very day.
Grandma Kay assisted Vicky, who needed a lot of help with papers and other problems. As a young woman she once went into a complete stranger’s house and started taking a bath. The owner came home and found her in the bathtub. Vicky was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and is a mental health survivor. When Grandma died, she asked our mother to take care of Vicky, who ended up in care with Parkinson’s. When Mom realized she herself could no longer help Vicky, as she could barely help herself, she asked Lynn to take on the task. Lynn did, and helped Vicky through her last years. One of those years I went with my Mom to visit Vicky, and we helped go through Vicky’s closet. It was a complete mess as the nursing staff were paid to help her get dressed but were not paid to look after the clothes. We reorganized it. We found a couple of very dirty sweaters. Vicky looked at me and asked me to wash Them. At the time it seemed strange as I was not close to her, and was just visiting, but I took the sweaters back to my Mom’s place and washed them for her. I am glad now that I did the washing, and helped her in that small way.
I can attest that none of these accounts contradict in any way stories that Morgan has previously shared with me.
Those are really interesting stories, Morgan. We don’t often get into these details with our friends, but written down they form stories that are both curious and really human,
This story reminds me that life is not black and white but filled with stories that confuse us. What is normal anyway? I enjoyed reading these stories.