Heirloom SCORE!



On Easter I scored a family heirloom. When my father finally relented, I’m sure tired of hearing me beg for it over the years - I could see a trace of pain flash across his face. It was made by his favorite sister, Pauline. His closest sister in age, and his not-so-secret favorite sibling. They shared each other’s handsome face. Same grin. Same cowlick. The same wide eyes, which reflected whatever blue, happened in the moment to be in the sky. 

I have three memories of my Aunt Pauline. First: I was in my Grandmother’s trailer as my father and uncles, carried Pauline out of the mobile home and into an idling car, my grandfather already at the wheel. Each brother in charge of a limb, and Pauline throwing the mutha of all fits. That’s how the family referred to her seizures, as she had epilepsy, “There goes Pauline throwing another one of her crazy fits again.” My grandmother calmly fed my brother and me M&Ms, breaking her composure here and there, to shout out instructions to her boys, “Watch-out for her head! Careful going through the sliding door!” My dumb-ass brother more concerned over where grandma hid her secret stash of M&M’s, then the fact that Aunt Pauline was being hauled out of our grandparent’s home, whilst thrashing about like a trussed hog going off to slaughter. Second: I was standing at an old rusted chain link fence. My dad and me on one side, next to the street, Pauline standing on the other side, knee-deep in weeds. It was the only house on the block, without a porch sofa or empty beer bottles strewn about. A sloppy, beefy puppy playfully attacked and chewed at the hem of her homemade skirt. Her smiling at my dad while beaming, “I’m naming him Money, so no matter what happens, I’ll always have Money.” My father laughed, thinking it a joke. Her not getting that she just made a joke. I remember that I stepped back behind my dad, afraid of her confused, searching smile. Third: My cousin Roberta’s wedding, where I was forced to wear a hot pink and green satin flower girl dress. My hair pulled up into a tight-ass bun, the practical hair-do Pauline favored whilst going about her every-day chores. Everyone cooing over me, saying I looked like Pauline’s little twin…I was not having any of it! Later that day I was severely scolded for frowning, as I threw flowers angrily at the feet of those who had the nerve to say that shit to my face. I was right up on the breaking point of throwing my own damn goofy fit. 

After her passing, as an adult I started to understand that her true hardship was probably an undiagnosed case of Autism. Then one day, I happened to stumble across this bed-spread at my father’s house. “Hey Dad, didn’t this belong to you and my mother?” He steered me away from it, the first of many times, as he talked about a young man, who after joining the Army and before being shipped overseas, asked his favorite sister to knit him a bedspread, if he payed up front for all the yarn. I questioned, “Why would you want something so girly at such a young age?” He answered plainly, “So she’d have something to do while I was gone, and so I would always have a piece of her.” 

It took her quite a few years, but this was the result, which won first prize at the county fair, the year it was finally finished.
On Easter I scored a family heirloom. When my father finally relented, I’m sure tired of hearing me beg for it over the years - I could see a trace of pain flash across his face. It was made by his favorite sister, Pauline. His closest sister in age, and his not-so-secret favorite sibling. They shared each other’s handsome face. Same grin. Same cowlick. The same wide eyes, which reflected whatever blue, happened in the moment to be in the sky. I have three memories of my Aunt Pauline. First: I was in my Grandmother’s trailer as my father and uncles, carried Pauline out of the mobile home and into an idling car, my grandfather already at the wheel. Each brother in charge of a limb, and Pauline throwing the mutha of all fits. That’s how the family referred to her seizures, as she had epilepsy, “There goes Pauline throwing another one of her crazy fits again.” My grandmother calmly fed my brother and me M&Ms, breaking her composure here and there, to shout out instructions to her boys, “Watch-out for her head! Careful going through the sliding door!” My dumb-ass brother more concerned over where grandma hid her secret stash of M&M’s, then the fact that Aunt Pauline was being hauled out of our grandparent’s home, whilst thrashing about like a trussed hog going off to slaughter. Second: I was standing at an old rusted chain link fence. My dad and me on one side, next to the street, Pauline standing on the other side, knee-deep in weeds. It was the only house on the block, without a porch sofa or empty beer bottles strewn about. A sloppy, beefy puppy playfully attacked and chewed at the hem of her homemade skirt. Her smiling at my dad while beaming, “I’m naming him Money, so no matter what happens, I’ll always have Money.” My father laughed, thinking it a joke. Her not getting that she just made a joke. I remember that I stepped back behind my dad, afraid of her confused, searching smile. Third: My cousin Roberta’s wedding, where I was forced to wear a hot pink and green satin flower girl dress. My hair pulled up into a tight-ass bun, the practical hair-do Pauline favored whilst going about her every-day chores. Everyone cooing over me, saying I looked like Pauline’s little twin…I was not having any of it! Later that day I was severely scolded for frowning, as I threw flowers angrily at the feet of those who had the nerve to say that shit to my face. I was right up on the breaking point of throwing my own damn goofy fit. After her passing, as an adult I started to understand that her true hardship was probably an undiagnosed case of Autism. Then one day, I happened to stumble across this bed-spread at my father’s house. “Hey Dad, didn’t this belong to you and my mother?” He steered me away from it, the first of many times, as he talked about a young man, who after joining the Army and before being shipped overseas, asked his favorite sister to knit him a bedspread, if he payed up front for all the yarn. I questioned, “Why would you want something so girly at such a young age?” He answered plainly, “So she’d have something to do while I was gone, and so I would always have a piece of her.” It took her quite a few years, but this was the result, which won first prize at the county fair, the year it was finally finished.


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