My Gene Pool

I come from a long line of people who love to produce "hogwash," as my father calls it. No one in my family would be surprised to see that I keep a blog. My father writes all sorts of letters and memos to people either to make a point or to be heard. One of my cousins is writing a book; my sister and another cousin have real appreciation for comedic writing. I suppose it is in my blood to write, and it probably all stems from my grandfather, Dale.
His name wasn't Dale, but he was called that by my elder cousins and Dale he was until he died. We didn't know it was a first name, he was just Dale to us and that meant Grampa.

A self-made man, Dale was a hardware store owner turned mayor, turned salesman. He could really turn a phrase. When he and Nanna celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, he published a full page glossy flier with their picture on it. It was entitled, "Why Every Man Should Love Women." He spun out quite a tale and made many intriguing assertions--ideas that most of the family would not have recognized as belonging to their marriage had they not known that Dale wrote it. It's quite an eye roller, even now.

As a young man, Dale was a violinist. His accompanist was a young lady named Iva. During one concert while he was playing Humoreske, he recalls that he looked down into Iva's eyes where he saw "a line of diapers flapping in the breeze." If he told us this story once, he said it 100 times. They were married shortly thereafter. Their engagement picture shows Nanna turned away from him looking miffed about something, and Dale grinning from ear to ear. It was a metaphor for their entire marriage.

On Sundays we often had whole family gatherings at our grandparents' home. The meal usually included mashed potatoes, gravy and peas. There was a grand old painted white round table and everyone squeezed in around it. It seemed enormous to me then. Halfway through the meal Nanna would ask in true hostess style, "What will you have, James?" Turning to her with a beneficient smile he would announce, "Just a slice of you, my pet." There would be a hiss and Nanna would stamp the heel of her little black shoe on the floor. Our chuckling would begin.
Soon it would be time for dessert and Nanna would bring out a lovely cake. As she cut the cake, Dale would take a dish in one hand and hold it out to her. "Iva, how's your bowels?" Before she could respond he'd say, "Have a piece of cake." We would erupt into gales of laughter and Nanna would be madder than a wet hen.

My grandfather was an extrovert of the truest sort. He was happiest being around people, chattering away with them. He was a wonderful storyteller and many of his stories we could repeat verbatim. Dale loved music. Even after he could no longer play the violin with his arthritic fingers, he would play "O Susanna" on the harmonica, while stomping and dancing through the house. As children, we were delighted with his energy and verve.

Oh he was a dancer alright! There was a period of time when he'd go downtown to the bank and dance with all the tellers every week. I'm not sure what Nanna thought of that, but the tellers sure enjoyed his visits.
At one point Dale bought a piece of property which he wanted to have for his sons. I was too young to remember much about it, but I do remember "P'Tung Studio." It was written on a sign over a hollow where frogs lived. We got a real charge out of that.

As I get older, I have begun to observe myself saying some of the same things that Dale and my father have said. I consider both of them to be eccentric in some ways, but very endearing. When I see my sister or brother following suit, saying things that could have just as easily come out of my father's mouth, I have to say that everything seems right in the world. The familiarity of their words and the feelings engendered remind me of the long line of unique word turners from which we all hail. Perhaps I shall be making a spectacle of my relationship with Sam in a more updated way than Dale featured Nanna in the media back in the 60s. My words will probably embarass someone I'm related to, but they are written in the fulness of appreciation and love for the gene pool from which I sprang. I could be off doing much worse things than writing a blog.