Over Thinking Thanksgiving, Part II

I sit at my grandmother’s dining room table surrounded by three generations of Jacksons: Granny, mom and my sister.  There’s a huge selection of different foods, mostly meats and vegetables, so none of it look that great to me.  I instead decide to dig into the sweets and my sister and I each have a slice of peanut butter cake.  And my mind clears only momentarily to enjoy the slice and when it’s gone, my brain wanders again. 

Then my mind goes to my grandmother, or Granny, as I call her.  What a woman.  She is in her late 70s but still manages to pump out a killer breakfast every morning.  Everyone loves her biscuits.  Every Jackson has been raised on them.  She’s beautiful for her age.  She does have the natural signs of aging, the sagging and the wrinkles but for the most part her skin is still smooth and she doesn’t look as old as she is.  Her former jet-black hair has been replaced with a charcoal gray color.  It’s still incredibly thick and always in a disheveled ponytail.  Her movements and her voice have slowed over the years but she’s still making it along, probably in better shape than a lot of people her age, and sadly, in better shape than Uncle Jim.  Her sister, my great aunt Sibil, looks a lot like Granny.  She also looks good for her age and I think it’s in the genes ‘cause my father looks really good for his age as well.  Both sisters share the same eyes, extra skin that pulls their lids down, making their eyes barely more than slits.  They have the same cheekbones and the same slow southern drawl.  They are genuinely kind women and I think I like them the best out of the rest of my family, my mom, dad, and sister excluded.

I think about how strong Granny has to be.  She can’t be too happy that most of her sons have turned into screw-ups.  She can’t be too happy that there have been so many babies born out of wedlock.  And she’s probably not too crazy about Jerrod being gay.  But what I admire most about her is the fact that despite how these people came into her life and despite how they live their own lives, she’s glad they are there and she loves them.  She’s holding a baby now, some baby that I have never seen before, some unidentifiable child from an unidentifiable family member and she’s trying to feed her.  I can see the joy on her face at this girl with rose-colored cheeks and piercing blue eyes.  I like that Granny accepts all of her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren for who they are. 

I think about my parents and how they are the only ones who are married.  I think about my dad and how he made something of himself when his brothers turned to drugs and alcohol.  And as annoying as he can be sometimes, I’m very glad that he is how he is.  He’s the only one of the Jackson men who has a stable job, a stable relationship, and a stable child…in my sister.  I think about my mom and how she’s only related to these people by marriage but still enjoys it when this collection of folks get together.  She has a strong sense of family and I can appreciate that.  She always arrives early to help Granny cook and always stays late to help Granny clean up while the rest of us come home and take a nap.  I think about my sister and how she’s probably the most productive of the Jackson offspring.  She has a nice home, a nice job, a nice husband, and two cats.  She’s got her stuff together. 

And then I think about me and I wonder where I fit in all of this.  My dad fits in with his brothers and Mom fits in with Granny and the other women because they are all mothers and Shannon can relate to the women ‘cause she works full time like they do and I guess I just don’t have anyone to relate to anymore.  Jerrod and Kristie used to be my go to family but now they are off doing their own things.  There’s no one else my age that’s in college.  They are either working to support their illegitimate child or off getting plastered.  And I can’t relate to them because I’m not into the things they are into.  I’m afraid that some of my relatives are thinking I’m snobby.  I can hear them now, thick southern accents pouring from between their teeth, “Look at Brannon over there, ain’t trying to say nuthin’ to nobody, thinking he’s better than us.”  Really, I don’t think that way at all.  I just have no idea what to say to them anymore.  There are no threads of commonality to cling to.  I have no job, no children, no significant other to brag on/complain about and so there’s nothing ever to say.

And not only do I worry about everyone else thinking I’m a snob but sometimes I wonder if I am.  I look at all of these people that never finished school and have condensed their days down to drinking booze and having babies and I wonder what kind of life can that be?  Certainly, I know better than to act that way.  Certainly, I’m better than that.  And then I have to stop myself because that’s really out of line.  These people have had hard lives and when I think about it, can I really blame them for turning out how they did?  I think of Jerrod and Kristie and how the aunt whose name I can’t remember abandoned them and they were left with a father who was more interested in taking care of his Hennessey habit than his own children.  I think of how many of my relatives don’t have much money because they never received an education so they’ve had to take odd jobs to support themselves and their children that keep multiplying and I guess when you don’t have much, there’s not much to do to occupy yourself except get drunk and have sex. 

I understand that just because you’ve had a hard childhood, it doesn’t give you the excuse to make nothing of yourself or your life but this is all most of them have ever known.  It’s hard to break the cycle when there’s very little opportunity for anything better.  It’s just easier to fall into the path that’s been paved for you.  And I’m guessing that’s what has happened in most of their cases.  And instead of getting all high and mighty, I should simply sit back and be grateful that I come from a more stable family and have been as privileged as I have been.

And it’s not that I am ashamed of my family but I guess I just wish they would have made better choices.  I realize that they are all stuck.  All of my uncles have lived in this small town all of their lives.  They were born here and they will die here.  Most of their children will do the same.  And it’s people like my family that will keep this town populated, as sad as it may be.  And they do the best they can, as flawed as they and their choices may be.  And as messed up as they are, they are kind people.  They might be dysfunctional but they are not rude.  We all get along fairly well and I suppose that’s m

ore than some families can say.  And as country as they are, it’s comforting.  I sit here and I’m hearing some relatives laughing and talking over the laughing in the next room and I can hear their accents, just as thick and rich as the pecan pie, and I take refuge in it.  After being away from home and hearing all of these weird northern accents that bounce off my ears like rocks, it’s like slipping into a warm bath to hear those old familiar voices again.  Like it or not, this is what I grew up with and these people are my family.  They might be a bunch of uneducated rednecks who live off of beer and welfare, but they are all I have. 

Shanon and I are stuffed with peanut butter cake and boredom so we leave.  We hug Granny goodbye and walk out.  We get in my car and I drive us home.  Shannon immediately slips into her pink pajamas and takes a nap on the fold out bed in the living room.  Dad’s already in his room snoring and I sit and watch television and hope that Christmas will be better…