When I was growing up, my extended family lived in Georgia around the Atlanta and Stone Mountain areas. We saw the grandparents and great grandparents at Christmas and for a week in the summer….or if there was a funeral. Those were the most interesting times.
I discovered that funerals brought out the hidden attitudes, antagonisms, and intolerance of some family members for other family members. It was great entertainment for everyone.
One particular summer, my mother’s mother, better known as Mamaw, called and said that an uncle had died. Could we come to the funeral? So we packed up and went to the outskirts of Stone Mountain. I was newly married at the time, but my husband and I wanted to be there for my mom in her hour of need. So we went along, too.
When we arrived at the funeral, I could feel the tension surrounding my mom. She was nervous, and it showed. I had no idea why until I got there.
Now, my Mamaw was a difficult person. She was an introvert and perpetually grouchy and cantankerous. My mother always told my sisters and me that Mamaw loved us, but we all would roll our eyes and doubtfully agree. Mamaw always hugged us when we arrived and left, and always sent a Christmas gift and $5 or $10 for our birthdays. But while we were in her house, she had very little to say…except to go outside and stay there.
But the one thing that was always destined to set Mamaw off was her own mother, Granny Freeman. They were polar opposites. My great-grandmother Freeman was just like my mom…sweet and joyful. But unlike my mom, Granny Freeman was completely uninhibited. She would say or do just about anything. She was my favorite out of the lot.
When we arrived at the Funeral Home, it was just as my mother feared… Granny Freeman was there. But she wasn’t just there, she was dressed to the nines. While we were all in black, she was wearing a bright red dress with a leopard spotted scarf and red dangling earrings. With her white hair set against that red, she was dramatic and beautiful. My Mamaw was mortified. Even my mother was a little shocked.
I just grinned.
My grandmother immediately began criticizing Granny Freeman’s dress. She demanded to know why Granny had dressed so disrespectfully for a funeral.
Granny just shrugged and then stated very loudly, “I never liked him anyway. I’m glad he’s gone.” Her words echoed in the foyer of the funeral home, and I saw eyes widen with shock all throughout the room.
For a moment there was dead silence…until a huge guffaw burst out and stole everyone’s attention. It came from my great Uncle Thomas who was thoroughly enjoying the show and had fortified himself in preparation for the spectacle by downing a half dozen beers. He was three sheets to the wind. Snockered. Plastered. Well, you get it.
Now a word about my Uncle Thomas. I rarely saw him and when I did see him, he was a little too “happy” if you get my drift. He was certainly an alcoholic and a thorn in the flesh of my religious great Aunt Katherine. Aunt Katherine was another favorite of mine because she was so loving and warm and looked just like my mother with her big brown eyes. I knew she was always embarrassed and hurt by my Uncle Thomas, and I was sorry for that, but I was so thankful for his timely intrusion into the hostility between my Mamaw and Granny Freeman I could have hugged him then. But I didn’t have to because as lit as he was, he stumbled over to all of us, grabbed each of us in a strangling bear hug and handed each of us a 50 cent piece. He had a pocket full of them.
I will never forget looking over and seeing my skinny, strait laced preacher dad untangling himself from my drunken Uncle Thomas and then looking down and staring at the 50 cent piece in his hand. It was a hoot. My husband and I both looked down at the 50 cent pieces in our hands and then I looked over at my sisters, each holding their 50 cent pieces. And for some reason I found that hysterically funny.
I began to snicker and giggle until I caught the attention of my mom, dad, and grandmother. That’s when my husband elbowed me in the ribs. I think they all had had enough drama for one day.
Anyway, the uncle was buried, Aunt Katherine took Uncle Thomas home to sleep it off, and we packed up and went home. Another funeral over and done with. And this one had been the best yet.
A few years back I was going through some old boxes and lo and behold, I found my 50 cent piece from Uncle Thomas. At first, I felt sad and rather nostalgic at bygone days. But then I remembered all the events and started to laugh and laugh. What great memories.
I wonder what my kids and grandkids will say about me when I’m gone. I shudder to think of it.
