Family Values

I lost my uncle Fred last week on December 14th. He was the last surviving sibling of my mother’s. Mom was one of 7 children and the baby of the 4 girls born before 3 boys. Mom passed 11 years ago December 11th. My grandfather passed on the same date 19 years prior. I’m sure there is some meaning to that. I don’t believe there are coincidences in the universe.

My uncle had been hospitalized for an extended period. When I was in Pittsburgh last month, going through the stuff that life always seems to throw at us on a regular basis, I had the opportunity to visit with him in hospital. As chance would have it, he was there alone. I had stopped at the gift shop to buy a plant, but there were only flowers. I prefer plants because they have the ability to live on. Cut flowers do not. I had brought along with me one of the children’s books that I have written and published to show my uncle as well. You see, if it were not for him there is a likelihood that there would not be a Maxine and Beanie. We visited for over an hour and reminisced about our life together at grandmother’s house. When my pregnant mother and I moved back to Pittsburgh when I was 4 and a half, my uncle Fred was still living at home along with my uncle Leon and Aunt Edna. Life at my grandmother’s house are some of the best memories. It was a fantastic time. It was a time that helped to define me and nurtured me into a kind and loving human. My grandmother’s children were all extremely talented and gifted each in their own way. Our home was filled with so much love, laughter and joy.

On Sundays we would usually go to church and sometimes Sunday school. Grandma Geneva would often quip that she wanted a Harley to ride to church on Sunday mornings with her Sunday go-to-church hat pinned securely on her head, dress tucked between her legs. I wish that I would have been able to have made her dream come true. Not only for her own happiness but for my delight as well. That would have been a sight!

After church, grandma would put on her apron and start Sunday dinner. She was a fabulous cook and taught me all the basics that I needed to be the wonderful home cook that I am today. My daughter Amber says I am the best home cook that she knows. I think a lot of my family members, including my husband, might agree. We would eat dinner early on Sundays because the rest of the day was spent entertaining family and friends. All afternoon and well into the evening our family and neighbors would arrive to visit grandma Goudelock and to visit all of us that had the honor of living there as well. Extended family and family friends would come and go the entire day. Sometimes we would sing and play music. My grandfather and all of the girls were quite talented singers. My grandfather sang opera and had even made a recording which I never got to hear. My mom and her sisters would often sing together at church. They had beautiful voices. They were known throughout Pittsburgh as the Goudelock sisters. My cousin James would play the piano or organ. He was a self taught musician and could play anything by ear. Sometimes, in the summer, we would watch sports on the small black and white tv on the front porch with the cord plugged in through the front window. Grandmother was a huge baseball fan. Other times we would play games. Our family loved to play board games. Hours of playful competition would go by punctuated with plates of leftover dinner or grandma’s homemade desserts. We only had dessert on Sunday’s. It was such a special treat. During the week everyone would go about their daily routines. School, work or daily chores were done with dedication and care. Expectations were high for achievement, even if to the outside world the tasks seemed menial. Hard work was expected from everyone. My grandmother cooked and cleaned everyday of her life as long as she was capable. I learned so many skills form her. There’s probably not any homemaking and survival skill that I don't know because of her. Skills that you don't learn in school. There’s something to be said for having these lessons. Aside from learning cooking skills, cleaning, laundry, etiquette, manors, gardening and home repairs, I also learned to survive a bear attack, defend myself and shoot. My grandmother once told me that she could carve her initials in a tree with a shotgun and could shoot a gnat off a bowl of grits in a dense fog from 300 yards away. I believe her. When I was in college she made a hand made mace from a broom handle and some nails to prop behind my dorm room door in case of unwanted intruders. What can I say? She was born in 1910. She had been a flapper in her teens. She survived prohibition and the Great Depression. I don't currently have weapons in my house but I could use them if it came down to it. I was also able to hone my sportive, creative and softer sides thanks to my uncles.

I stated that there would not be a Maxine and Beanie series of books had it not been for my uncle Fred. My uncle was a naturally talented artist. He was talented in every medium imaginable. He could paint and sculpt. He was proficient in pastels and oils. He created beautiful works of art from found objects. He could carve wood and weld as well. He made furniture, toys, decorative items and costumes. He created gorgeous lighted Christmas wreaths from old discarded computer punch cards that he would sometimes sell. He would bring me paper and tools so that I could paint and draw too. He nurtured that part of me. He was like a big brother to us.

One of my favorite memories was one Halloween when my uncle Fred created the best costume ever! Our family loved Halloween. Well, they loved every holiday truth be told. This particular Halloween, Uncle Fred decided to be Mr Hyde. He crafted a box with a scary mask stuffed inside it to depict a severed head. He used eggshells to create the illusion of bugged out bloodshot eyeballs which he later replaced with appliance light bulbs for their endurance. There was “blood” dripping from the box. His costume was a handmade cape that he and my mother created together. My mom sewed a wire hanger into the collar of a massive homemade black cape and my uncle created a top-hat from cardboard and some extra black fabric. Of course he had a scary rubber mask for himself to wear. He carved a machete from styrofoam which he painted to look unbelievably real. It was classic. The night before Halloween my uncle decided to test out the realness of his creation by visiting a neighbor in full costume with the severed head box in hand. He rang the neighbor’s doorbell with the box opened to reveal the monstrous head. It scared the neighbor so much that he went to get his shotgun. Of course my uncle snatched of his mask off just in the nick of time. It was such a great costume that it would lead to a fantastic recreation the following summer.

We would often ride our bikes everywhere, but especially during the summer months. We would ride and hike endlessly all day long. Our parents had no idea where we had gotten to most of the day and would probably faint if they knew, but when the street lights came on we were expected to be within yelling distance. Somehow we would always make it home for dinner too. None of us had a watch but we knew when it was time to head “a table”. There is something to be said for our natural connections to our world, our universe. I think we have lost that natural connection of which we are innately born. We allow technology to dictate our lives to us more and more. There is a lot to debate about now and then but this story isn’t that. As we gathered again in the back alley after our respective meals, the neighborhood children would ride up and down the hill for hours upon hours until the sun would set. Sometimes my mom would grab a lawn chair at nightfall and tell ghost stories seated in front of our garage in the alley. We loved that too. This particular evening we were riding when we stopped just outside the back gate of our backyard. We were saying our goodbyes to some of the children that needed to head back to their own respective neighborhoods when we spotted a shadowy figure moving slowly along the back wall of our patio. It was creeping along like a villain in any given horror film, hands positioned like claws and wearing a top-hat. A top-hat in mid July mind you. Our backyard was level with the alley so it gave us enough time to ride away on our bikes from any danger of this black menacing figure. At the bottom of the hill we decided to collectively investigate the mystery. We braved ourselves and road back up the hill to our yard. By now the shadowy figure had time to climb the stairs and was now hiding behind the trash cans just behind the gate. He jumped up with a loud growl sending children screaming and scrambling riding away in fright. When we gathered again at the bottom of the hill, I had an idea of what, or rather who it was. My friends peaced out and all went home so I was on my own to return to the scene. If I had any sense at all I probably should not have gone back. I slowly looked around as I approached our back gate. No one. I carried my bike down the stairs to the back patio where I stored it. Still nothing. I came in the back door and there was my Uncle Leon. I knew immediately that it was him that had pranked us. My suspicions were confirmed. He adamantly denied having done anything and claimed that he was watching The Million Dollar Man in his bedroom. I asked so why are you in the kitchen?, hands on my nonexistent hips. He had dawned the Mr Hyde costume, cape and top-hat deciding to scare us for some unbeknownst reason. That was funny to him.

My Uncle Leon was 14 when I was born so he was also like a big brother for us as well. He had returned from a tour in Vietnam and was living again at home. Leon was one of the best athletes that I have ever known. He lettered in every sport he played at Scott High School and probably could have been a pro baseball player if the war hadn’t cut his career short. He played basketball and football too but baseball was his forte. He pitched a no hitter that is still remembered to this day. He was also a jokester and loved trying to scare my brother and me. This was by far one of his best pranks. He never did admit it to me but I knew it was him.

Growing up on “the hill” in North Braddock was a wonderful experience. We were a neighborhood of diversity and inclusion. We played together in harmony. Girls and boys, black and white, Irish, Italian, Polish, Norwegian, German and African American; blond, ginger and brunette. We played kickball, basketball, football, hide and seek, hopscotch, Batman and Robin and my brother’s favorite, release the den. We would hike in the woods behind our house and play on the slaggy. We would build ice slides and ski jumps in the winter . We would make dinkies in the summer and catch fireflies in a jar. A new appliance box was gold and served various purposes in our imaginations until either the rain or the trash man took it from us. Everyone knew each other’s families well. There were dozens and dozens of children with an endless supply of playmates. We were a community.

I miss my mother and my grandparents but I also miss my aunts and uncles and all of our cousins. I am still connected with some of our neighbor friends as well as remaining family members and my best friend from then is still one of my best friends today. Although there is nothing that can compare to living in Paris, there is something to be said for growing up in a small town just outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. There is nothing like where I had the opportunity to grow up. Nothing that will ever compare to it.