My Great-grandfather Turns Twelve Today
(c) 2003 Bill Dodds
Chapter 11
"Yeah," Pat said, "tell us how
you're related to us."
"Well," I began, "my father's name is John
Farrell and his father is Thomas and his father..."
Well, actually his father is Charlie and he's standing right
next to you.
"Thomas!" Charlie's dad exclaimed. "Big Tom
Farrell! The one who ran the pumpkin farm? Why, I haven't seen Big Tom since I
was just a wee lad. A long, long time ago."
"Time flies," I said.
He nodded. "You have no idea how fast the years can
pass," he said.
"Oh, he knows something about that," Charlie said.
"Cousin Tom was a lot older than I was," Charlie's
dad said. "Why, we used to see one another -- our families got together --
about once every two years. Then they moved farther West and kept on moving, I
guess. One place right after another. Always on the go. So you're Big Tom's
boy."
"His grandson," Charlie said.
"Oh, of course. That's right."
"What's your ma's name?" the older girl asked me.
"Mary!" Charlie's dad shouted out and I jumped a
little bit. How did he know my mom's name was Mary? "Mary, come in here and
meet Big Tom's grandson. By golly, I just guess we are shirt-tail
relatives." He reached out and took my hand again and started pumping it
enthusiastically. "You're pa growing pun'kins like your grandpa did?"
he asked.
"No," I said, "he..." He's an accountant
for a cable television company. "He went into show business," I said.
"Is that right?"
"Uh huh."
"I expect that's how you got started, huh, cousin
Michael?" Charlie asked without really asking.
"What? Right," I said.
"Now what's all the commotion?" a woman standing in
the doorway asked. She had a platter of fried chicken in her hands. It smelled
really good.
She was in her middle 30s. About five-feet-two with straight
brown hair tied up in back in a bun. She was wearing a brown skirt that went
down to her shoes which were black and had little buttons on them. The sleeves
of her white blouse were rolled up and she was wearing a long white apron. There
was a sheen of perspiration on her face. She had a healthy, red glow to her
cheeks.
She was plain, but at the same time, pretty.
"Mary, guess who we have here?" Charlie's dad
asked.
"What a lovely shirt," she said.
"This is Big Tom's grandson. Big Tom's Pumpkin Farm.
Remember I told you about Tom?"
"Oh, sure," she said and smiled. She came into the
room and set the chicken down on the table. I noticed there was already mashed
potatoes, gravy, green beans, and homemade bread.
"This is Michael," Charlie's dad said.
"Hello, Michael," she said, "I'm... Well,
let's see. What should you call me?"
"Aunt Mary," the little girl said.
"Well, that's stretching it some," she said,
"but that sounds like a good idea."
"Hello, Aunt Mary," I said.
"I guess that makes me Uncle Peter," Charlie's dad
said.
"Hello, Uncle Peter," I said.
"And," he continued, "this is Brigid..."
The older girl nodded. "...you know Pat and Charlie..."
"Yes, sir," I said.
He continued naming them, from biggest to smallest. They had
crowded around him. "...Jerome, Catherine, Sissie and the young one's
Frank."
"Francis," Aunt Mary corrected him.
"Francis," Uncle Peter said, "but I expect it
would be a lot easier to go through life being Frank than it would being
Francis."
"Let's eat," Aunt Mary said. "Have you boys
washed up?"
"I have," Pat said and Charlie gave me a gentle
push in the direction of the sink.
"Company first," he said.
I could see the spigot where the water would come out but
there wasn't any knob for turning it on. No one else was paying any attention to
us. They were all busy jabbering away as they sat back down.
"How do you turn this thing on?" I whispered.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Don't you have
water in the future?"
"Hot and cold in every house," I said and he gave a
little snort as if that were the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life.
"One knob for hot and the other for cold," I said.
"Everybody has that."
"Talk about telling some tall tales," he said.
"Maybe some folks in town do but not out..."
"No, really," I insisted.
"Boys!" Uncle Peter said, sounding a lot like my
dad.
"Come on," Charlie whispered, taking the handle on
the contraption and pumping it up and down.
Pumping it up and down.
"This is a pump," I said a bit louder, sounding
surprised, and everyone laughed.
"I mean," I said. "I mean..."
"Come on, boys," Aunt Mary said. "Birthday or
no, dinner's getting cold."
"You need a microwave," I whispered to Charlie.
"Warm everything back up in no time."
"A what?" he whispered back.
"Boys!" Uncle Peter said and it was obvious he was
through playing around.
We washed quickly with a weird bar of soap ("Pine
tar," Charlie said.) and sat down. Everyone was quiet, even the little
kids. "In the name of the Father," Uncle Peter began, "and of the
Son and of the Holy..."
Each person was making the Sign of the Cross. "You're
Catholic!" I couldn't help saying. Everyone stopped. I smiled and made the
Sign of the Cross. "Me, too," I said.
"Well, I should hope Big Tom's grandson is a
Catholic," Uncle Peter said good naturedly and some of the younger kids
giggled.
We said the same grace we always said at home except they
said "Holy Ghost" instead of "Holy Spirit." Still, it felt
good to have something almost completely the same. I started to relax as we
passed around the platters and bowls of food. It looked and smelled wonderful
and tasted even better.
Then there was a sound outside and everyone was quiet. My
guess was it was a horse riding up toward the house. It was coming fast.
Aunt Mary and Uncle Peter exchanged a look with one another
but didn't say anything.
"PA!" someone shouted outside. "PA!"
Then he burst into the room. He was older than Pat but looked
a lot like him. He had the same red hair and lots of freckles. "Pa, there's
a letter here for you," he said, waving an envelope in his hand. "It's
from the bank."
"The bank?" Aunt Mary asked.
"Easy, Sean," Uncle Peter said.
"I don't think it's good news, Pa," he said and
Uncle Peter nodded.
"No," Charlie's dad said, "but it's something
I've been half expecting."
Go to Chapter 12.
