It’s no secret that, if a room full of people witness the same event, there will be as many versions of what occurred as the number of people in the room. As we go through life, we create our own reality, even though we believe that the reality we create is the only choice possible. Add to that our tendency to embellish the truth or our often flawed memory, and the natural erosion of facts that occur when stories are told through the Whisper-Down-the-Lane generations. The result is a soupy mixture of truth, fantasy, and wistfulness.
Life in the Boomer Lane was reminded of this when she read an August 9 Washington Post article titled “Some Delightful Family Legends Are Best Swallowed With A Grain of Salt.” It sent LBL on a trip down Memory Lane, festooned with the various family stories she had grown up with.
LBL’s favorite was a totally unsubstantiated story about an aunt who was told that her son, a soldier, had been killed in WWII. Each night, she awakened suddenly, with the strong feeling that her son was still alive. She looked at the clock and it read 3:15 AM. This went on for quite some time, and family members thought she had lost it. Then, one afternoon at 3:15, she heard a knock on her door. There, she encountered an army official, telling her that her son had been found alive.
Another story involved the younger sister of one of LBL’s grandmothers, who allegedly, at age sixteen, ran off with one of her high school instructors. LBL asked her mother what happened, as a result. Her mother said that the girl’s father (LBL’s mother’s grandfather) promptly dropped dead at the news. LBL asked if he were sick. The answer was no, he was in perfect health and simply “immediately dropped dead.” Some time later, LBL found out that the man had actually been sick for many months/years following the daughter’s escapade. She asked her mother if that were the actual cause of his death, whatever lingering illness he had over all that time. Her mother insisted that it was his daughter’s actions that caused the death. It just took awhile.
LBL’s mother also told her that the same great-grandfather who met an untimely end had been the accountant to the mayor of Starokonstatinov, a city in Ukraine, where the family came from. This man was, according to LBL’s mother, a valued and trusted Jew to the Christian mayor. Since LBL comes from a long line of completely anonymous people, she has tried very hard to find any reference to this man. She has failed. All she has is a pair of obviously very old, very ornate scissors, that the mayor was supposed to have given LBL’s great-grandfather for his years of service. The scissors are shaped around a cross, an interesting gift for a Christian to have given a Jew.
LBL, herself, may be guilty of sketchy history. She has vivid memories of the final days that her mother was in the hospital, before her death. The King of the Gypsies was in the same hospital, dying at the same time. Every day that LBL arrived at the hospital, the entire lobby was filled with innumerable Gypsies, keeping 24 hour-a-day vigil. The memory was so vivid, in fact, that LBL incorporated it into a novel she wrote and titled the book, King of the Gypsies.
Years later, LBL mentioned this event to a close friend, who was surprised and told her that it was during her own mother’s final time in the hospital that the Gypsy king was dying. Her own memories were every bit as vivid as that of LBL. The issue was never resolved, each of them taking possession of a pretty incredible memory. Either one of them had faulty memory, or the King really got around.
LBL is well aware that, story-wise, her own life experiences are at the mercy of her children and grandchildren. The children all gathered last year to take oral histories of LBL and Then Husband, so she’s not concerned with that part. What does concern her are the infinite anecdotes that she may have told them in various moments throughout the years, that will eventually get spun into something other than complete reality.
She has only one request, that the King of the Gypsies has no part in any of this. Presumably, he did finally go on to the great caravan in the sky, and, unlike Elvis, will not come back.
*****
A note of gratitude to those of you who have purchased Life in the Boomer Lane: Musings of a Former Hula Hoop Champion. And a request: If you have a moment to write a review, I would really appreciate it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Nelson Bartley
August 24, 2016
We were always told my great great grandfather ground up my great great grandmother in the grist mill and was later one of the first people executed at the Huntsville State Prison. Older brother is into family trees and has since found that yes, he did kill her and she was found near the grist mill…but no, he wasn’t executed. He actually was released from prison and went on to marry and have another family. That family was not exactly pleased when older brother contacted them. At first they said “Hmmm, that explains why we never heard much about his past.” And then they said “Never contact us again.”
Life in the Boomer Lane
August 25, 2016
Family murders are fun, at least for the generations-removed non-victims. A family member of Then Husband committed what was then called “The Murder of the Century,” It was so high profile, that a big Hollywood movie was made about it. Of course, the murder was back in 1904, and the century still had lots of years to go in which murderers could compete for the title.
Kate Crimmins
August 24, 2016
My grandfather is a rich source of family stories. He was the illegitimate child of a beer baron in Germany, his mother being a maid (or so it goes). She escaped to Austria for a while but as he grew up he became a troubadour (which is a nice word for a street performer) during the summer months in Bavaria before he immigrated to the US as an adult. He was quite a character but died when I was young. My personal memory of him is that of a small bouncy old man with a big smile. Not surprisingly, my older brothers’ memory is mostly of the wine he made in the barn. Sure wish I could ask him stuff now. Most times the stories are better than the real version.
Life in the Boomer Lane
August 25, 2016
I love that story. Why are the mom’s of illegitimate offspring always maids? On the other hand, I suppose that was one of the few career paths open to women back then. Now Husband has some mighty novel-worthy stories about his family, but I hesitated to splash them across the blog page. I keep encouraging him to write a book, but alas, he never will.
Kate Crimmins
August 25, 2016
Yes and why were the pregnant teenagers run out of town while the sperm donor continued on their merry way?
Andrew Reynolds
August 24, 2016
I create my own reality daily, sometimes hourly. Let’s say just say that if I where in a room with 10 people and we all witnessed something, there would be like 22 different stories – eight from me alone as I’d find the real store to lack certain dramatic impacts.
And as far as my family stories go, I am still certain, that my father single handedly won WWII.
Life in the Boomer Lane
August 25, 2016
I like the way your brain works, Andrew. I can relate. People always ask me why wild things are always happening to me. I tell than that the same things happen to me that happen to everyone–I just need to make them less boring.
Andrew Reynolds
August 25, 2016
You got it – going to the mail box can be an adventure, if you tell the story right.
sarahghobar
August 24, 2016
I love how this post and comments make me feel like I’m not the only one! I always wanted to believe my grandfather from my Dad’s side was an army hero, he was infact in the army but unfortunately not a hero!! I never met him, I see a photograph of him in his army suit back at the house and I make my own memories of what he once was. Love this!
Life in the Boomer Lane
August 25, 2016
Great comment, Sarah. We do that, don’t we? In my case, most people were gone by the time I was born (three of four grandparents), so I have lots of deceased people to work with.
Eileen Adickes
August 25, 2016
Wow, Renee! I clicked on the link for your book King of the Gypsies. Thought I might want to purchase. Sorry, but $67.00 is just too much to pay for a paperback. Yes, I checked it several times and the price was a few cents over $67.00. I like you but not that much.
Life in the Boomer Lane
August 25, 2016
That’s hilarious. I do see a used one for $.01 and another for about $4. But if you can’t find that, I can mail you a copy. I’ve got a few here. You can just return it to Yael. How’s that for a deal?
Eileen Adickes
August 25, 2016
I will look again. I can handle $4.