As a kid my Dad would spend his summers in Gorum, Louisiana with his Dad and the rest of his time in the big city with his Mom. My grandmother, Ma- Ma as we called her, was quite elegant and always reminded me of Liz Taylor, or rather Liz Taylor reminded me of my Ma- Ma. Classy and refined it was hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that, like my grandfather, she too was born in Gorum, a tiny backwoods town. Before moving to the big city she wasn't unaccustomed to hard work, it was a part of daily life. And when my Dad spent the summer on the farm he too worked his butt off. Hard work wasn't a punishment, oh no that's what switches were for, but rather it was just how it was. If you wanted to eat, you picked the garden and tended the animals. If you wanted to take a bath, you pumped the water from the well and hauled it to the back porch. I can't help but wonder what the world would be like today if that work ethic hadn't been pushed out by convenience and technology.
Through a series of marriages my Dad ended up with one full sister, one half brother and two half sisters. His full sister, my Aunt Linda, lived closed by growing up so I got to see her pretty often. His other sisters and brother however still lived in Louisiana so I only saw them on our occasional trips to Gorum. Now going to Gorum as a child was a...well...it was an experience. Having grown up in the city this tiny town could have easily been on a whole other planet. I remember not eating or drinking much on these trips. I've never really liked sweet tea or chicory coffee and these were pretty much the available options. And the food? Well, I didn't even recognize it. Meat that had probably been slaughtered recently and covered in gravy, greens and purple hull peas and biscuits that were probably made from scratch. Of course now my mouth waters just thinking about it.
On these trips we would stay with my great-grandmother, Grandma Bonds, who to my mind had always been a hundred years old and in actuality she DID live to be one month shy of a hundred and two. She was the keeper of the family records and quite a story teller, unfortunately like the food I wasn't old enough or wise enough to appreciate it then.
For the last ten years or so my Dad's family has gotten together at my Uncle Ronald's house in Natchitoches for our annual family reunion and crawfish boil. I can't remember exactly how the first reunion came about but I am glad that it did and that we continue the tradition. I don't know that all of us have ever been there at the same time due to illness or work conflicts, some make it one year but not the next. And due to marriages and births our family continues to grow, half the fun of the reunion is seeing who's going to show up. Every year is different, sometimes we sing, sometimes we swim, but there is always crawfish and good conversation. And now I'm old enough to appreciate the stories that are told. Like the one about my Dad wanting to know what it felt like to be blind so he put a bag over his head and then walked off the front porch. Turns out being blind......it HURTS! Or stories about he and his siblings being taken to a witch doctor to cure various ailments...which he did. Or a certain someone burning down a house because they wanted to move...yeah, that happened. Best of all is seeing my kids making memories with their family and writing new stories that will be told for years to come. Though the miles may separate us, my family is always close at heart...
Oh, and remember how I said that my Great-Grandmother was the family record keeper? Well. she recorded everything- from births, deaths and every event in between. In fact, we looked through some old books of her's and came across an entry that was dated sometime in the eighties, where someone (a cousin no doubt) stopped by to tell her a joke as follows...
Have you heard of the new toilet paper called John Wayne?
It's rough, and tough and don't take shit off nobody!
That's my family for you.
