Family Thistle, Weed, & Seed As retold by John W. Momot
Brittle paper, faded, once black. Ornate white corners border darked regions. Lost memories Lost. Page upon page, One lone memory seems sad, One memory not worth taking, Then another, and three more Among rows of empty faded outlines. “Your uncle may have them, your father— Aunt’s voice trails… Along with the clock? But I think it, not daring… Awkward silence, Like a table with three legs. The cuckoo clock, the portrait, the bed. Siblings embittered, fighting for Heirlooms and trinkets, Treasures of youth.
On my father's side An emptied album two generations distilled. Lost tongue, lost stories, half told tales. Great grandfather came to do business. Minor nobleman, landowner, Mother widowed, funereal meats but just cold To the arms of a peasant, offended. Myth or truth, Joseph sailed, For fortunes to earn in America! A butcher’s shop, a funeral business, A home, and a second, Three decades work, First born’s seventeenth year to dismantle.
Swaggering thug, bootlegger, drunkard, Pugilist, cock-sure fireman, Dry-drunk Captain, but Never elected chief, “assaulting an officer” Not a headline for politics. Friend, foe, colleague, felt his hot breath. Hard, brutal, callous he’s remembered. “Abused?” father snorts, “I deserved it! I was no good, nothing but trouble. HE kept me from jail, HE got us all educated, Taught himself algebra, calculus for me.”
“I would wet myself at dinner, when HE reaching over the table, Varumph! the way HE backhanded your father Infractions real or imagined. HE was brutal, a control freak” Aunt tells me. Eldest son to West Point, Daughter of seventeen, College? To a nunnery away! Youngest an advocate will be!
Ten years a Nun, Aunt stated. “A very strict order, 26 when I left. Three days at home—all I could stand. So bad…HE was… sooo bad. Slept on your parent’s sofa, your sister was… two? Soon got an apartment She was weak, already ill Got mom out of there, Her final years in peace. What of her family? Met her mother just twice, HE wouldn't allow it! Not even on holidays. But I took her back home, Childhood home in Pennsylvannia Beautiful stairway, her finger trailed Over the Tiffany lamp, “Pamientam tego,” I remember this, she whispered in Polish.
Dad didn’t your folks separate, divorce? “HE left her — took off, went traveling. To Japan, to It-ly a year… Returned, well, you met HIM… but not until… HE was tough, even then. He adored you two, HE was gentle with you Your mom didn’t want him Was drinking again. Died in Florida.
Two jobs, two kids, too busy to care. Heart attack? Try drinking And whoring and drinking And smoking and drinking at sixty! HE was mean. I mean brutal-- His intentions were good… Never met grandfather, grandmother, Died when my father was young. HE was mean, I mean brutal—but he wanted us educated… HE would step into a bar, pick out the biggest guy to brawl. Once an officer lost an eye to my father, Before kids were born. Family hid him in the attic. HE was mean… With your uncle in grade school HE threatened an officer, ‘Draw that pistol on me and I’ll shove it—
Oldest son, kicked out of West Point and Annapolis Graduated Georgetown, dropped out of law school. A gambler since youth, a card shark of Vegas,
Second born ten years a nun, Columbia attended, Jersey born, her daughter Jersey bred, now off to London.
Youngest son a lawyer’s lawyer, Court TV and in books, private practice, Fancy cars, finest suits, Vegas show girls, Now no six figure checks can cover the shards Two children make of his heart.
My Mother’s family six generations Virginians. Run aground, rocks and river. Young man set out, make haste your fate awaits! Leave them behind Leather pouch, shoulder borne livelihood, Clothes on back now wade ashore, Six miles to go, walk it slow To the Shokoe Hills of Richmond town. Five generations removed from me. Set up shop, cobbler’s apprentice no more. One year to the day Andrew Bailey Build a home, thrifty saved. Now build another business Build another home, then a farm.
My son, my son, mine trust betrayed! Gambling and whoring, no son of mine can ye be! Away from me, go! Banish ye to frontier wilderness! Indian lands, wild, but stretching, To Cumberland seek your fortunes, but as no son of mine! And so bedraggled, outcast, The blacktop grew, a store, a house, Returns to Richmond and prosperous family heads The lands tended needed 10 or more workers, The stave factory a dozen easy, The stores half that, half what? Of slaves? None will speak. Cryptic notes, a trunk full of confederate paper, Play thing for children.
Mom loved the farm, Loved getting away from mother Played in the fields, rode the tractors Till Granny said no Pa pleaded her case —NO-- Young lady’s place won’t in the fields Was in the kitchen cookin ’n cannin, could go ’t the barn ’t milk th cows Walter gots t’ run th tracter, young brother gets ’t romp wild
Mom lived most in the boarding house, now near city center, When young where paved road turned dirt trailing west. Family downstairs, boarders up, mostly men Five rooms, mostly men, a meal and a room. Listened to radio, had one channel tv. Died once, mid show. Me and Walt ran down the block to the Robin Inn — still there Watched the end of the show at the bar.
Went to Binford Middle, all white then, where you taught McDonalds had no drive throughs, but walk throughs for blacks One day a black man sat up front on the bus. We watched as he tumbled out onto the pavement grappling the driver. Elsworth and mother only paid the trashman out back, Cursed when mom, home from college, spoke of equal rights On way home from college, left hungry a diner A Mexican friend to dark to be served.
Southern belle meets northern aggressor, Bayonne Polak, 2nd generation Jersey boy American, Annapolis appointed, 1st in college, out for a good time, hell bent on gettin out. Southern lady, 4th generation Virginian, intent on gettin out.
Got more out then back into Virginia to raise her young, Circle complete. First born daughter, by her side, Two strong boys, now college bound. Second born son, a wanderer, artist, Returned to Poland, returned home With son with daughter, circle complete.