Family Stories

Allegedly, my father's mother was kidnapped by Cherokee Indians when she was a child. That's the story I heard. I know no details. I find it more than a little suspect but then, who knows? Maybe she was taken as ransom for a gambling debt. Of course, the image I had as a child was of a wild-eyed Indian swooping in on his horse and snatching her up in one arm while letting out a war whoop. Too many cowboy movies.

A family story I know to be true because I've read the newspaper clipping is the one in which my granddaddy (Mom's father) shot and killed a man who broke into the mill when they were living in Rockford. Even if I hadn't read the article, I would believe this one. Granddaddy was a pretty unsentimental, pragmatic man. I can well imagine him shooting someone who trespassed.

Mac claimed that Uncle JB was in the local mafia. Another highly suspect claim, especially given the source. However, I am pretty sure JB was a gambler and a drinker and mixed up with the wrong crowd. And after he died (he had been living in that two bedroom house in Alcoa), Daddy found a wad of money stashed under the mattress.

Daddy's sister, Bella, apparently had a drinking problem. Of course, I didn't know this when I was a kid. All I knew was she and her husband owned The Princess Motel on 411. One time we went out there for Christmas. They gave Mac an Invisible Woman. Strange gift.

I would have never known she was an alcoholic except one time after Mom and I had taken a walk at Ijams in Knoxville, I told her I wanted to stop at a package store and get a couple of bottles of wine to take over to Sissy's. You'd have thought I'd just said I was going to get a gun and go rob a bank. Mom whipped her head toward me at the speed of light, eyes wide with fear and dismay. "Oh, Laurie! You're going to be like your Aunt Bella. You know she had a drinking problem!"

A couple bottles of wine, Mom. To share with two people. For the weekend. But thinking back on this now, I realize she knew a lot more about whatever addictions, alcoholism, and craziness ran in Daddy's side of the family than I did. She was probably right to be worried.

As I've written elsewhere, I don't remember a lot about any of my aunts or uncles on Daddy's side of the family. It just seemed like there was something not quite right about some of them. And, after a certain point (after Granny died in 1974?), I just never saw any of them again. It always felt like something had happened, or Daddy didn't want to be around his brothers and sisters. Just something that felt weird. I sure wish I could dial back the clock and be an observer of their lives. That would probably answer many questions.

Last year I did go and visit my aunt in Florida. She is the last one of the nine siblings that is still alive. (Although, she may have died since I saw her. You'd think my cousins would let me know, but I'm not so sure.) Before last year, the last time I saw her was when I was five. We took a family trip to Florida. Actually, I believe that was when I met her. She had three children who were teenagers: Ronnie, Judy, and Larry.

On this recent trip, I got to see Larry and Judy. Aunt Kitty lives with Larry. Larry and Judy don't speak to Ronnie. That trip deserves a story of its own, another time. The most significant and completely unnerving part of that trip was the fact that Kitty not only looked almost exactly like Daddy (apparently it wasn't just the brothers who looked alike), her mannerisms and way of talking were identical to his. It was like sitting in the room with Daddy.