Fri 6 Oct 2006
I’m on a business trip once again, and consequently watching way too much CNN in airport lounges, hotel rooms, and hotel gyms than any sane person should. Sandwiched somewhere within the round-the-clock pedophile coverage is a little story about a woman who was kidnapped by her parents on the eve of her wedding. They took her on an enforced road trip until her wedding date had passed, then released her. She got married when she got home.
This happened to someone I know: my grandfather.
When I was in college, one of my English professors gave us an assignment to tell a family story. We had to recount the story in class, and then develop it into a personal essay. I couldn’t think of any interesting stories, so I called my grandfather to ask him for one. Despite a fairly interesting life — emigrating to the US, serving in World War II — my grandfather, who was extremely taciturn, couldn’t think of anything to say, so I asked him to tell me about his wedding day.
My grandfather had six brothers and sisters. At a young age, he was already working to help support his family. (Incidentally, his granddaughter, my cousin, would one day marry the grandson of the owner of the factory where he worked.) When he became engaged, his parents were concerned that his income would soon be diverted to his new household, and they decided to prevent the wedding by locking him in the basement.
His parents were about as successful as the “kidnapped bride’s” parents; although he missed his wedding, my grandmother forgave him and married him later.
Amazingly, in fifty years he had never thought to tell this to any of his children. When I retold this story to my family, it encouraged them to ask the few remaining members of the older generation for more stories and pictures of their lives. This is how some of these stories came out.
You should do the same. Call someone up and say, “Tell me about your childhood/your wedding day/when you served in the Army.” My professor got a book out of her family stories. You might get something valuable, too.
October 6th, 2006 at 11:53 am
I had a great uncle that died when he was 14. My father once told me that he could hit with a snowball in the eye that became infected.
Later, my great aunt told me that it was true that he got hit with a snowball, but the the most significant part of the story was left out by my Dad. Namely, that the snowballs was really a rock covered in ice and the thrower was a member of the KKK during a cross-burning on my great-grandparents yard. They were Irish, Catholic and well-off. Apparently, not a good combination in rural North Dakota during the 20’s.
I bet every family has interesting stories in their past, everyone should be asking and then writing it all down.
October 6th, 2006 at 11:54 am
Oy, the typo’s in that one. Sorry.
October 9th, 2006 at 8:17 pm
Wow, what a story. Glad you were able to record it for yourself and your fellow family members.