Chapter Ten
The Secret To Life Is Family
I have a T-shirt that says, “If you met my family you’d understand.” Yeah, I’d have to say that that’s pretty much right on the money. I am the way I am because of how I was raised, because of the loving and hospitable environment that I grew up in. I get my sense of humor from them (if you have been around the Patchen sister’s long enough, then you’ll know all about the Patchen Cackle). I get my sense of family and support from them, my love and appreciation for life, and, well, my strong, stubborn, and hard-headed ways — all comes from them. I am a direct reflection of the long line of beer drinkers, good food eaters, gut-busting-cackling laughers, supporters, givers, right and wrong doers, and advocates of love that I come from.
You see, the thing about family is, they are all a part of you and you are a part of all of them; you are interconnected through genes, DNA (and other scientific words that I hardly know anything about). In other words, families pump the same lifeblood through their veins. We are all relics of where we come from.
Where I come from, we bring side dishes and desserts. We bring smiles and hugs and stories of the latest happenings in our lives. We bring handshakes and happiness. And, without a doubt, we bring our appetite for good food and good times.
I would have to say that our biggest family tradition at Grandma and Grandpa’s house is having potluck holidays, birthday celebrations, and cookout/sleepovers for the whole family.
During these celebrations, we all trickle in at different times; some of us early to help, some of us later because we’re just not good at being on time. But, all of us show up with smiles, hugs, handshakes, and food. That is what I love about my family; we always show up with food (I mean, smiles, hugs, and handshakes).
We all make our rounds of “hellos” and “how are yous,” passing out hugs and kisses as if they were candy at a parade. Grandma and the Aunts usually get a little greedy, stealing more than their fair share; sort of like me and my little cousin with Grandpa’s candy jar. Some of us filter into the kitchen to taste the food (I mean, to see if anyone needs any help with the food). Some of us upstairs, some of us down; some of us grabbing beers from the beer fridge (clears throat), and some of us waiting for someone to head down to the beer fridge to grab them a beer (Grandpa clears his throat). And, all of us sharing our stories of our how-we’ve-beens and our what’s-been-going-ons.
This is how I see our family in the rearview mirror of my memory. Ever since I was old enough to walk those hills, this how I see my family: together, in celebration of love, life, family, and tradition (and food, we ALWAYS celebrate food). In hard times, sad times, good times, and times when we realize exactly what we should be thankful for, us… our family, together and proud, holding each other up, keeping each other afloat, with hugs, smiles, and laughter that echoes right on down the valley — this is what family is all about.
It is celebrations like these where some of the most intimate and personal aspects of our lives go from being just our burden, or just our bubble of happiness, to being shared with everyone around the dinner table. Grandma and Grandpa’s place is where we announce our new additions to the family, whether it be a child or an engagement, it happens here, in person. Or, if it is sad news, or bad news, from break ups to health issues, this is where we find our support; this is where we realize that we are not alone in the face of adversity. Here, at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, this is where we realize that we have an army of good people behind us, beside us, and in front of us, taking on, together, whatever issues we may face.
And, friends, this is what is so special about family; this is what is so special about my family.
Folks, it’s not just the celebrations and personal moments that make families so close; it’s the hard times, as well. And I can assure you that every family has them, and that, together, every family can overcome them. My family is no different. We have had our fair share of troubles and rough times, from divorces to war, from health issues to money problems, we have (and still are) fighting through them all, as a family, supporting one another, just as a family should.
I can tell you that I have been through some tough times. Hell, chasing your dreams is hard. And, for a stubborn man like me — even harder. Matter of fact, you would not be reading this book right now if it was not for the love and support of my family.
You see, a couple of years back, I gave up a good, steady job working for my father’s excavating company in order to go chase some wild adventure of discovering who I am and what I want to do with my life (to be honest, I still have no idea, so that was kind of a bad investment). But, in my quest to find my calling, I’ve found myself calling on my family for help. Go ahead and guess what doesn’t pay the bills… dreams. In other words, I’ve ended up with empty pockets and an empty fridge: broke and broken. This crusade for my place in life has left me just as empty as my cupboards, just as run down as my old truck, and just as lost as my dignity. It has nearly pulled me under.
But it’s my family that has kept my head just above the water. Each one of them giving me hope, love, support, and, more often than I care to admit, money. My gracious father and stepmother have let me live rent free, for months at a time, in the house that I rent from them. They have loaned me money, given me work and even let me drive their spare vehicle when my truck was broken down.
My mother has paid for my meals (even though I’ve argued against it), she has offered me work, and found work for me though her friends. My stepdad has offered me work and even given me his 4wheeler ramps, so that I didn’t have to buy a new set. My brothers both have bought me meals (for no good reason, other than to rub it in my face later when I’m rich and semi-famous), they have given me work, loaned me money, and have helped me search for new jobs. Grandma and Grandpa, both individually and as a tag-team, have argued tirelessly that they will not let me come over to help them plant trees, clean out the gutters, put sealer on the driveway, climb ladders, clean their chimney, dig ditches, split firewood, or do any other type of labor for them, if I do not accept their money. They have always let me use their spare truck when mine isn’t working. They have picked me up, given me a ride to and from, and have supported me in any way that they possibly can.
My aunts and uncles have all found small jobs for me to do around their houses for some extra cash just to get me through school or while I work on my writing. They have all supported what I want to do and have been very big fans of my work. Aunt Patti and Uncle Matt, just recently, took me with them on their family vacation to the beach. Aunt Penny and Aunt Pam have helped me search for work through their many contacts and friends. They all have been the crutch for me to lean on.
It, truly, goes beyond just those few things that I have listed. To be honest, I would not be able to follow my dreams of becoming a writer if it wasn’t for my entire family being there to support me. I suppose one of the best things that your family can do for you when you’re going through hard times like these, well, besides being the love and support that you need, is them buying into what your selling. You see, they believe in me. They want me to succeed. They want me to find my happiness, my calling. And, they are willing to struggle with me, until I am able to find it. That is what we need. That is what every single one of us needs: A family that will walk through fire for you; a family that will let you be the person that you are, and the person that you want to be; a family that will bleed for you, kill for you, and die for you. That kind of family, right there, MY kind of family, is the secret to a prosperous life. No matter whether your idea of prosperity is wealth and riches, or love and support, it is family that will get you there.
Family is the secret to life. This is a lesson that has been passed down from my grandparents to their daughters and from their daughters to us grandkids. It is the lesson that we see from day to day in the actions that we all take. It is helping each other out: lending out cars and trucks, advice on love (basically, that means that, whoever I end up dating, has to be approved by Grandma and Grandpa, first), mowing the lawn because Grandpa can’t anymore, cutting down trees together, gathering firewood for Grandma and Grandpa’s fireplace, lending money to whoever needs it, and offering work to those who won’t take a loan. It is the mass amounts of worry and stress that we all go through to ensure that Grandma and Grandpa stay around for as long as possible.
As Grandma and Grandpa get older, their health is declining. A few years ago, Grandma was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It’s a disease without a cure; one that slowly strips away the person that you are, stealing your identity, taking away everything that you ever knew. It’s a horrifying and ruthless disease that eats away at the mind and the memory of the person it’s affected.
But we do not let Grandma go at it alone. The whole family is by her side. She has an army in her corner, supporting her with every step. An army of family and friends that attend the annual Walk to End Alzheimer’s in Columbus, Ohio. An army that raises money and donations to the Alzheimer’s Association to, hopefully, someday soon, find a cure for this crippling disease. An army that takes her to her doctor’s appointments, who writes down what the doctor says for her, who help to remind her of what she is supposed to be doing and what she isn’t supposed to be doing (but she will still do it, anyway). She has an army in her corner that call to check up on her, who stop by to hear the same stories that she has already told them over the phone, who love her and support her in any way that they can. And, although she is faced with knowing how difficult her future will be, bravely, she keeps her spirits high and fights back with humor and self-banter. She won’t hesitate to jokingly (and sometimes not jokingly) blame Grandpa for hiding her jacket, her purse, or for eating the sweet snacks that she had just eaten an hour before (sometimes, though, I think she just wants to get away with eating two snacks. But I’m on to her…). She is courageous in her willingness to press on and not let this disease control what she wants to do.
Grandpa, on top of heart issues, has been dealing with internal bleeding and kidney failure for a while now. He deals with this by drinking another beer (I’ve mentioned that he is a little bit hard headed, right?). I have to hand it to the old man, though; he’s quite persistent in doing whatever it is that he wants to do (I imagine that’s why we get along so well, we understand each other). He is a man that will only ask for help after he has been bedridden for three days because he wanted to dig that ditch himself, cut down that tree alone, or carry those bags of feed down to the coop before someone came to steal them right out from under his nose??? (I’m not really sure why he always had to hurry and get the feed down to the chicken coop in the first 30 seconds that he brought it home). But, the point is this, it was/is up to us, his grandkids, his daughters/husbands, and Grandma to keep a watchful eye on him, to stop by frequently and take care of whatever project he thinks has to be done right now, or else, he will be out there with a shovel instead of his cane, trying to do whatever it is himself.
His health became so much of an issue that he had to give away all of his chickens because he wasn’t able to walk up and down the hill to the chicken coop, anymore. We all decide that taking the chance of him falling and hurting himself was not worth the risk anymore. So, after decades of raising and caring for those hens and roosters, he gave them all away to a family friend. And just like that, his chickens were gone. There were no more chicks at Easter, no more squawking hens or cock-a-doodle-dos; there were no more eggs to gather and no more shit to shovel. But, that didn’t stop him from taking chances on those hills, anyway. Even with the chickens gone, he would still test his luck and venture out into his yard to pick up branches, dig up stumps, and rake away the fallen leaves.
It is our responsibility to make sure that that does not happen. It is a daunting task, to say the least. So, we surprise him often; we stop by, unannounced, in our work jeans and work gloves, ready to do whatever project he has worked up in his head, this time. We check up on him to make sure that he is drinking enough water, eating the right foods and not drinking so many beers (for the record, I’m not very good at stopping him from drinking… matter of fact, I’m also not very good at letting him drink alone). Together, we worry, we watch, and we work to keep him and Grandma around for as long as we possibly can.
I can see them, some years down the road, sitting on their porch swing, the dogs at their feet, the smell of smoke from their burn barrel filling the hills, and Grandpa with a beer in his hand. Grandma will be giving him an ear full about his drinking and Grandpa will be doing whatever Grandpa wants….
“Whitey, put that back! You can’t be drinking any beer,” Grandma will say.
Grandpa will insist (be drinking it anyway).
“Well that’s the last one today, Charles!” Grandma will compromise.
Grandpa will finish it, and five minutes later he’ll cane himself past his watching dogs, and into the house to grab another one. He’ll sit down beside Grandma, crack open the top and start drinking. Grandma will look on with disgust and scold him.
“Whitey, that’s the only one you’re having today! No more beer,” she’ll say.
Grandpa will smirk, maybe even chuckle. And when that one is finished, he’ll wait a few minutes, and then creep his way back inside the sliding patio door to grab another cold Bud Light. He’ll come outside, slowly and achingly sit down on the swing beside Grandma, let her crack open the top, because his fingers don’t bend as well as they used to, and he enjoy one more brew. She will surely scold him, again.
“Whitey, you can have one, but this is it!” She will say in her concerned, motherly tone.
And he will drink it slowly, enjoying every last bit of it. Then, he’ll get up, empty can in one hand, cane in the other, and he will go inside to place that empty one with the other empty ones on the counter. He will reach inside of that old fridge, grab just one more beer, make his way outside to the swing and chuckle at Grandma when she still insists that this is the only beer that he can have today.
And, I imagine, that this is how we will find them when they pass, sitting together on the porch swing, the dogs at their feet, and a beer in Grandpa’s hand.
Knowing my grandparents well, they will more than likely both leave this world together, too stubborn to be the first, and too much in love to go on alone. They will drift off to face the next world just as they have faced this one, together, as a couple, jabbing and joking their way through time, leaving behind their astounding space, which we, as a family, will try to fill, will try to match, and will do everything in our power to preserve.
And our family will surely be shattered… but not broken. Because Grandma and Grandpa will leave behind more than just their kin, their possessions, and that gravestone called Grandpa’s chicken coop… they will leave behind the glue that will hold this family together — the values and the lessons that we all grew up learning — that love is superior, that family is mighty, and that without a doubt, we were put here, not for ourselves, but for each other.