They were shadowing a century when they came to visit my in law mother and I had them all over for dinner. I had married into a U.K. background, the satellite being Scotland.
Seated at a comfort meal, even the aged, ailing uncle pleaded for a taste of real food of roast beef and mashed potatoes. He happily ate.
Rrrronnie. . . .Aunt May rolled her r’s as she started with another helping. What do you think of a mother who capped her daughter in summer because she had dark hair? Startled , I said, I thought someone had issues not resolved.
I listened carefully to facts from this cousin hoping for light on my not understood difficulties with this Anglo Saxon Protestant family I could never please. I researched and found Scotland had been invaded several times in their history by nomads looking for delta land to feed the growing tribes on the move. Their early history of course revolved about the break from the Romans.
But recently I read an article that new evidence shows that Africa was once green and easy to cross with many waters easy to navigate. African tribes these hundreds of thousands of years ago left their mainland in droves, swooping countries with devastation in its wake.
We see today the ravages of war across too many places to count. Generations will find that whatever their much toted pristine origins will be taken aback when the grandchild arrives with features outside their familiar culture. Like the in law mother who as a child was made to wear a hat in summer by a severely prejudicial grandmother intent on appearances.
And unsuspecting but eager to be loved younger I marrying into an unknown family wondered why I fell short. They only saw features from an Eastern European heritage labeled rural and did not know the educated ancestors with a grandmother who spoke seven languages.
In the farm country of my home state settled by Germans where I spent my formative years, a grandfather announced a grandson to his friends with a sidebar of he has black curly hair and brown skin but he’s mine. Of course he was and I look upon extended family and see unfamiliar features and even tight, black curls of one of ours (from the Scottish line) and so far no blue eyes but who knows?
The sense of soil exhibited by some family members has made me look closely at investing some fantasy monies if they came to me in household bleach of any kind. Watching these members scrub a genetic history of hundreds of thousands of years ago of what they consider stain on their pristine hides leaves me with a desire to shout as my Mentor did, ye are brothers!
You are your brothers’ keeper. You are, we are, I Am. . . . .