It seems every family has a few members whose bubble does not plumb.Of course, every family regardless of latitude has colorful characters in their past or present. The real issues that can make or break your eligibility to claim your pink, rhinestoned GRITS apparel collection is how sweet you make your tea and who your people were: meaning your abundance of Civil War ancestors. It is preferred you be a descendant of a general or a person of note.Anyway, Sister B and I are knee-deep in the poppy field of ODD, and what follows should be all the resume’ we need to get in the club.
When I hear stories of my great-uncle on my mother’s side I am reminded of Marty McFly’s Uncle Joey. Joey was happiest when incarcerated.. Our great-uncle and Joey could have formed an in-house support group for those unable to adapt to a world without orange jumpsuits (or their equivalent), and a well-regimented and supervised daily schedule.
Our great-uncle’s most famous contribution to our family history occurred when he was out and about. He found, a word heavy with deep and wide degrees of interpretation, a veterinarian’s satchel full of instruments of the trade including syringes. Being clever as well as possessing a huge gift of Irish/Welsh blarney as well as a touch of genuine horse manure,he promoted himself to the position of County Animal Inspector. I say that because he was able to convince local farmers, many of whom knew him, to allow him to inoculate their farm animals. So he spent some time traveling from farm to farm inoculating pigs…with water. This thoughtful and time-consuming task earned him a Do Not Pass Go, Go Directly to Jail card.Other than lying about his position and inoculating the pigs; which he did free of charge, no one was really harmed. Have you seen where pigs live? The filth, smell, mud, fellow pig companions; Lord, they live like pigs! A syringe of water in the butt is no big deal. The story goes he spent his remaining years in prison where he collected Good Behavior awards because he loved life in the Little House. I call it the Little House because the county lock-up does not qualify as the Big House.
I believe every southern family has at least one member with a deep devotion to all things junk. In today’s world of reclaimed everything from houses built of old bricks and lumber to shoe soles manufactured with old tire treads, I like to think of another great-uncle who spent his life collecting great works of iron and steel. He was a true visionary in the world of green living. Al Gore would be proud and if he was still alive, Al may have given my great-uncle a few carbon credits.
Our uncle and his family lived up the holler in a house that came to indoor plumbing very late in life. The driveway was lined not with trees,but cars stacked two or three high. If you ever asked him if he planned to clear out the cars his reply was: “What, and get rid of that good junk?” The idea of hauling those cars away was as foreign to him as Jon Bon Jovi volunteering to play at a fundraising event for Newt Gringrich. Why would he do that? After my dear uncle left this world his carefully acquired collection was dismantled and bought up by junkyards in the county, much like a fine art collection being sold by Sotheby’s.
Moving on, I promised a discussion on Civil War ancestry. Well, Sister B and I share ancestors on both sides of the war, although I prefer to ignore those who wore blue. Now, to be accepted into any type of society in the South you must product DNA evidence of an unbroken, direct genealogical line to Someone Important. That means that Robert E. Lee cannot be your cousin three-times removed on your mother’s aunt’s hairdresser’s family tree. It means you must be the however-many-greats-it-takes granddaughter of one of the most highly-esteemed individual who ever commanded troops on the field between 1861-1865.Otherwise, your lineage is questioned much like that of the mangy mutt you dragged home that sure can hunt but you won’t be showing him at Westminster any time soon.I like to call these people blood snobs.
Sister B encountered such a blood snob one day at work. She works for a wonderful organization and therefore must maintain a very courteous and professional demeanor while on the telephone.One day a caller mentioned her esteemed Confederate ancestors. Sister innocently replied there was some Blood of the South in her family as well, but when she couldn’t product names and a direct line, the caller was unimpressed. Sister B could hear the disdain in the woman’s voice. To think that this wannabe person was trying to claim southern heritage…well, you know how Yankees can be…so uncouth.
In an effort to treat both sides equally, I wrote a small biography of a Civil War surgeon from one of those Yankee states that drove old Dixie down.During another conversation, Sister mentioned my accomplishment only to have to caller use the words: Damn Yankees. Yep, it ain’t over until they say it’s over.
For the record, we are connected to Stonewall Jackson’s quartermaster and James Longstreet; who was not accepted in polite society after the war when he accepted a position with the Conquerors. The poor man needed a job!
However, the unforgivable sin was committed by Longstreet’s cousin, Julia Dent who had the great misfortune to marry Ulysses Grant. For the record there has been talk of Robert E. Lee somewhere in the family but as it is a non-direct line we are relegated to being the kids you hide in the closet when polite society comes to call.
If you really want to be a blood snob you need to be able to diagram not a sentence, but a family tree tracing itself back to George Washington and then across the pond to some king. It’s all about your people and my people. And considering all the people in dispute are dead; it’s really my word against yours. And my word is Robert E. Lee.
We’ll discuss sweet tea later…
