![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the way people play favorites toward their children and grandchildren. It's not fair, but it happens. It happened in my house growing up with my father, and my mother's father was notorious for it. The universe has a way of balancing things out, so being a favorite child or grandchild is not without its drawbacks. Favored ones pay for their status by earning the scorn of those who are not favored.
My grandfather's children and grandchildren are sharply divided into two camps: those who remember him fondly despite his many flaws, and those who can't say his name with sneering. Those of on his A list got praise and affection from the old man, because he was kind toward those he loved. But he didn't love all of us equally. In fact, I don't think he loved some of us at all.
To the chagrin of some of my older cousins on our grandfather's B list, the princess of the A list was my cousin Leslie. That this adopted outsider should be the favorite was unforgivable. Even as they sat stoically at her memorial service this last January, even wiping a tear or two away, I don't think they forgave her.
"The Girls always told Leslie that Papaw didn't really love her, because she wasn't really family," one of my other cousins told me once, "That she wasn't, you know, blood."
I was shocked to hear this, but I shouldn't have been. Having once been a child myself, I know children can be. Kindness and consideration are learned behaviors that we must teach kids, but cruelty often comes natural to them.
Leslie didn't tell me that out cousins told her this, because the words never fazed her when she heard them. She had it straight from my grandfather's mouth how he felt about her.
"He told me, 'You're my favorite granddaughter, and do you know why? Because you play piano, and your Nanny played piano and that's what made me love her and want to marry her.'"
I didn't even realize that my grandmother played the piano before I heard this. My grandparents were too poor to afford a piano, so I guess she played it in church.
"Since the adoption agency told Mama and Daddy that my birth mother played piano, they paid for me to take piano lessons for years and years. Nanny and Papaw came to all my recitals when I was little. Papaw wouldn't miss one."
Leslie was also a beautiful child, blond and willowy, far prettier than most of the rest of us. My other cousins her age were average looking and kind of chunky, even as children. I've noticed that my grandfather's favorites were never the homely ones. My plainer aunts got yelled at while my prettier aunts got spoiled. My attractive cousins got compliments, but my cousins whose looked were more average – boys and girls alike – got nothing but criticism. I guess it is a testament to my own cuteness as a child that I have no bad memories of my grandfather. There is a reason that my family is so divided in how we remember the man: we were exposed to completely different sides of him. As a result, he reaped what he sowed. Those who he showed love too gave it back to him, and the others to this day would sooner spit on his grave as put flowers on it.
I think the biggest slight my grandfather made to his natural grandchildren was after his death, when he came to Leslie in a dream to say his final goodbye to her and to no one else.
Leslie was not in Texas when our grandfather died and was not able to travel to his deathbed. But she knew when he passed before anyone got a chance to call her on the phone.
"I dreamed I was in the kitchen of one of the houses where we lived when I was growing up, and Papaw walked into the room," she told me. "He said, 'Come give me a hug, baby girl, I've got to go now.' So walked over and I hugged him, and from where I was coming up to him on his shirt I guess I must have been about 10 years old in that dream. Nina, I woke up right after that and I knew he was dead, but I also felt kind of peaceful, you know? Like everything was going to be all right."
I understood. I thought it was sweet that she, the one who had been reminded since childhood that she wasn't really "family," was the last person that he ever made a point to speak to. She had obviously won over the heart that so many in our clan never could.
My grandfather will forever be a controversial figure in my extended family. When certain relatives of mine start talking trash about him, those of us whom he favored don't mount any real defense of his memory, because we know his detractors will only say, "You didn't really know him like I did. If you did, you'd hate him, too." True enough. But I also think that if they knew him like we did, they might have loved him. It's like the old saying about whether you see a glass as being half empty or half full. The conventional wisdom is that whichever half you concentrate on reveals a lot about you. I've always thought that any glass that is half empty is, by definition, also half full, and that concentrating on only one half means you aren't seeing the whole picture. Likewise, any man who is half bad is also, by definition, half good. The half he shows to you, however, will become his whole person in your mind's eye. After all, what good does his goodness do you, if you never get to see it?
I wish my grandfather had thought of this when it came to how he treated his less favorite children and grandchildren. I suspect that if a person who is only half good makes a point to show everyone the good half of himself, before he knows it that half will take over and become the bigger, better part of him.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the way people play favorites toward their children and grandchildren. It's not fair, but it happens. It happened in my house growing up with my father, and my mother's father was notorious for it. The universe has a way of balancing things out, so being a favorite child or grandchild is not without its drawbacks. Favored ones pay for their status by earning the scorn of those who are not favored.
My grandfather's children and grandchildren are sharply divided into two camps: those who remember him fondly despite his many flaws, and those who can't say his name with sneering. Those of on his A list got praise and affection from the old man, because he was kind toward those he loved. But he didn't love all of us equally. In fact, I don't think he loved some of us at all.
To the chagrin of some of my older cousins on our grandfather's B list, the princess of the A list was my cousin Leslie. That this adopted outsider should be the favorite was unforgivable. Even as they sat stoically at her memorial service this last January, even wiping a tear or two away, I don't think they forgave her.
"The Girls always told Leslie that Papaw didn't really love her, because she wasn't really family," one of my other cousins told me once, "That she wasn't, you know, blood."
I was shocked to hear this, but I shouldn't have been. Having once been a child myself, I know children can be. Kindness and consideration are learned behaviors that we must teach kids, but cruelty often comes natural to them.
Leslie didn't tell me that out cousins told her this, because the words never fazed her when she heard them. She had it straight from my grandfather's mouth how he felt about her.
"He told me, 'You're my favorite granddaughter, and do you know why? Because you play piano, and your Nanny played piano and that's what made me love her and want to marry her.'"
I didn't even realize that my grandmother played the piano before I heard this. My grandparents were too poor to afford a piano, so I guess she played it in church.
"Since the adoption agency told Mama and Daddy that my birth mother played piano, they paid for me to take piano lessons for years and years. Nanny and Papaw came to all my recitals when I was little. Papaw wouldn't miss one."
Leslie was also a beautiful child, blond and willowy, far prettier than most of the rest of us. My other cousins her age were average looking and kind of chunky, even as children. I've noticed that my grandfather's favorites were never the homely ones. My plainer aunts got yelled at while my prettier aunts got spoiled. My attractive cousins got compliments, but my cousins whose looked were more average – boys and girls alike – got nothing but criticism. I guess it is a testament to my own cuteness as a child that I have no bad memories of my grandfather. There is a reason that my family is so divided in how we remember the man: we were exposed to completely different sides of him. As a result, he reaped what he sowed. Those who he showed love too gave it back to him, and the others to this day would sooner spit on his grave as put flowers on it.
I think the biggest slight my grandfather made to his natural grandchildren was after his death, when he came to Leslie in a dream to say his final goodbye to her and to no one else.
Leslie was not in Texas when our grandfather died and was not able to travel to his deathbed. But she knew when he passed before anyone got a chance to call her on the phone.
"I dreamed I was in the kitchen of one of the houses where we lived when I was growing up, and Papaw walked into the room," she told me. "He said, 'Come give me a hug, baby girl, I've got to go now.' So walked over and I hugged him, and from where I was coming up to him on his shirt I guess I must have been about 10 years old in that dream. Nina, I woke up right after that and I knew he was dead, but I also felt kind of peaceful, you know? Like everything was going to be all right."
I understood. I thought it was sweet that she, the one who had been reminded since childhood that she wasn't really "family," was the last person that he ever made a point to speak to. She had obviously won over the heart that so many in our clan never could.
My grandfather will forever be a controversial figure in my extended family. When certain relatives of mine start talking trash about him, those of us whom he favored don't mount any real defense of his memory, because we know his detractors will only say, "You didn't really know him like I did. If you did, you'd hate him, too." True enough. But I also think that if they knew him like we did, they might have loved him. It's like the old saying about whether you see a glass as being half empty or half full. The conventional wisdom is that whichever half you concentrate on reveals a lot about you. I've always thought that any glass that is half empty is, by definition, also half full, and that concentrating on only one half means you aren't seeing the whole picture. Likewise, any man who is half bad is also, by definition, half good. The half he shows to you, however, will become his whole person in your mind's eye. After all, what good does his goodness do you, if you never get to see it?
I wish my grandfather had thought of this when it came to how he treated his less favorite children and grandchildren. I suspect that if a person who is only half good makes a point to show everyone the good half of himself, before he knows it that half will take over and become the bigger, better part of him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-07-09 07:56 pm (UTC)My grandmother was crippled by a drunk driver long before the days trauma centers and physical therapy. So, for much of my mom's childhood, she (as the stories are told) wasn't very nice to be around. Enter my great aunt. Seeing that the children needed a mother figure of some sort, she helped look after my mom and her 3 sisters. However, the woman was as color-struck as they came. As such, my mom and my aunt Laverne, both of whom were closer in shade to my grandfather were loved and adored. My aunts Brenda and Patricia who were much darker were simply tolerated. From time to time, I can still see how her actions shaped their individual psyches, and not always for the better. I often wonder what drives people to do some of the things they do with children. I suppose the answers probably lie in their own histories and the screwed up things people did to THEM as children. Go figure.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-09 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-10 01:42 pm (UTC)My dad favors Jen. He always has. Mom says it's because he feels bad that she's from a divorced family. But she's lucky in that her "step" family treats her no differently from Camie or Elycia. In fact I think Gary favors all 3 of my kids. But that my be because they're GREG'S kids (even if one is only by marriage...)
*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2008-07-10 02:08 pm (UTC)Families are complicated, being filled with imperfect people whose shortcomings have a major impact on our lives and all. Some people find it easier to shower affection on an animal than a person, and it sounds like your folks are from this camp. I've met people who believe that the be affectionate toward a child and to comfort them when they are crying is to "spoil" them. It's the way they were raised, and they never bothered to question it.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-10 02:12 pm (UTC)Well, my dad spoiled me a lot, but mom has always been more reserved. I used to be mega jealous of my parents' pets...but I'm not as bad now. :P I know my mom's behavior is modeled off of her mom... So there is understanding on my part now that I'm an adult. ^^
no subject
Date: 2008-07-10 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-10 10:27 pm (UTC)Mom stands up for him every chance she gets. She said recently that some of the sisters are starting to regret the way they treated Papaw in his later years. Of course, as the token daughter-in-law, she had a unique perspective on how to handle him.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-11 02:13 pm (UTC)My mother also knew how to handle and deal with him.
All the children of the favored children were favored grandchildren. With the others, it was a mixed bag. He loved Missy, but only yelled at her two brothers. He loved Mickey, but had no use for her brothers, either. Of Corina's girls, I think BJ and perhaps Barbara got his affection, but the other two didn't, and neither of them were as loved as Leslie. For that matter, none of the rest of us (with the possible exception of Clay) were, either.
I don't hate him, but I do see him as a flawed and complicated man. He had ADD characteristics that made him (like Ron, who favors him in so many ways, and loathes that he favors someone who is loathed by so many) have a hard time understanding and connecting with other people. Because he didn't understand people (humor perplexed him, since he had no sense for it), he spent a lot of his life lashing out at people in anger.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-11 10:24 pm (UTC)I heard he'd bonded pretty strongly with Aunt Essie as a youngster -- partly because Nanny had spoiled Corina. In fact, to hear Aunt Essie talk about Nanny, I hardly recognized her -- there's some serious anger issues there.
No wonder we're all nuts! :D
no subject
Date: 2008-07-12 01:12 am (UTC)I think Essie got knocked down a peg when her sisters Jo and Ruby came on the scene. She certainly always had a lot of hostility toward my mother. My mom always said she was mean growing up, and her son confirms she was mean as an adult, too. Still is, for that matter. I think she was fond of your father and I know he was fond of her, which kind of points toward the idea that like her father, she showed radically different sides of herself to different people in her life.
I suppose you're right that Papaw didn't get other people's sense of humor, rather than not having one entirely. But that's still a conundrum; it's like being able to hear your own voice but not anyone else's; you aren't exactly deaf, but socially speaking you may as well be.