Simple twists of fate—one reason I ended up at Reinhardt

If my mother had really loved me and had had the common sense to have taught me to soak my hands overnight in a bag of antiperspirant before I went on that State Fair date, and Alison had fallen in love with me—I already in love with her, though with a child’s heart, not so much clearly aimed at an object, but self-reflexively, looking in a mirror, at the heart’s desire to find union with our opposite—and we had married and lived happily everafter, then I would not have found my true object, my most excellent and beautiful wife of 34 years.

I had a similar experience last week. Pam and I attended my aunt’s funeral at Restland and were gathered at my uncle’s home for an after-funeral gathering. Thirty or so were in attendance, a once-in-a-lifetime gathering of brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews, and members from the church and square dance club.

John Hancock was handling himself well, with much dignity, given that he had just attended the funeral of his wife of 53 years. My cousin, Jim, aged 60 and recently retired, turned out to be a soulmate or genemate of mine, compulsive about psychoanalyzing and finding his history. As we discussed some mysteries of our parents’ and grandparents' early lives, he said something to the effect that we should pump John while we were there that afternoon to put together some of the missing pieces. I think he suspected that it would be the last time he saw John or any of the rest of us, so he ought to make the most of the opportunity.

So Jim, John, Don and my Mom, who is 86 years old and lives in a retirement facility in Richardson, found ourselves at Judy’s (John’s dead wife’s) dining room table. The two elders, like us old people often do, were looking backward rather than forward; they seemed to loosen up a bit--solemn, philosophic and becoming a bit playful—just the ambience I want this blog to have.

Jim had a good opportunity to spring his questions but was silent. So I decided to jump in with a question to better round out my short paragraph of knowledge about my grandparents, this being the genealogical tidbit that constitutes and exemplifies our pitiful ability to know our past:

My grandfather Hull Huggins Hancock was a roughneck at a young age in the oilfields of Tulsa, Oklahoma. He was the son of a quarry owner—someone who breaks rocks for a living. Hull also was a bit of a dandy and drew the interest of the daughter of the owner of the drilling company. Her name was Isabel McGilvery. Just after they were married, a tragic accident occurred—the bull wheel of a cable tool rig hit his skull, partly severing his ear and crushing his brain. Though he lived, he was permanently disabled, in constant pain, and lived from the charity of his father-in-law, who set him up with a small rental property operation to allow him to maintain his marriage and raise the four male Hancock children he produced. Hull was abusive of his boys. If one did something wrong, he would whip all the boys with a belt, and he would even whip Wag the dog if it tried to interfere and protect the boys. When he died, his four sons thought a tin can was sufficient for a gravestone.

My question to John was this, me the ever-romantic one: “When your father and mother first met one another and fell in love, what was it about Hull that drew Isabel to love him?” John, then but really throughout his life, was unable to summon up much imagination. He said, “My Dad was a roughneck, he had a lot of money.”

My Mother, who had listened to this exchange very closely, was next to speak. “If your dad had not been in that accident, your mother would have divorced him, because he was a drunk. She used to tell me things like that.”

My brother, aged 63, who was sitting across the room on the couch, as always misinterpreted the situation, assuming this was an inappropriate and outrageous thing to say, and let out one of his goofy guffaws, much too loud. I took my Mother’s comments as the right thing to say and understood her dry cynicism, me being her sugerbaby.

I had been corrected by an intelligent, loving woman. I listened to her and heard her and it has made all the difference in the world.