The Family (pt 1)
So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able.
Dar Williams - Christians and the Pagans
Ah. My Family.
What a motley crew of dysfunction, confusion, and just plain ol’ issues.
Our story begins may years ago with a beautiful woman named Lattie Josephine Darby. Also known as Lattie Jo. My grandmother.
Born and raised deep in “Cajun” country, my grandmother spent pretty much all of her life in the southeastern part of Texas. Her mother, who I have only seen pictures of, was a very short, half Indian woman, who was a devout Christian.
I don’t know a tremendous amount about my grandmother’s life when she was young. I know that her brother was shot down in WW1, and another brother was also lost before his time. But her life that I do know about, was absolutely riddled with tragedy.
My grandmother watched her beloved mother get run over by a drunk driver while on her way to church. Not only did he run over her, he backed up and ran over her again. She was 4'11. By the time he was done, she was over 6 feet long.
She lost her father in a horrific accident where he had a heart attack while driving, and fell out of the car as it rolled. He was flung from the car, and his head was actually run over. My two uncles were also in the car, suspended and hanging upside-down by their legs, no where to stare but at their grandfather’s now flattened head. They too, almost died in the accident.
But wait. There’s more.
She has now watched her oldest son, and oldest daughter die. My uncle James, from brain cancer, and my mother from congestive heart failure and related complications, including sleep apnea. And now, her husband is withering away with Alzheimer’s disease.
She has been married 4 times.
My grandmother, when my mother was young, was also a raging alcoholic. I have heard many stories of absolute horror. Shooting at my grandfather, drunken rants, and my personal favorite, asking my mother “If I shot your daddy, would you testify against me in court?”
It is true that the people that have been horrible, turn out to be the polar opposite.
That is my grandmother.
My grandmother was up for actually being crowned “Miss US Navy”, but she actually dropped out of the competition because she had “found god” and didn’t think it was right to wear a bathing suit in public.
And so it began.
But no amount of radical change could possibly undo all the damage that had been done.
My grandfather, Vincent Leo Rose, is, and always has been, a witty, charming smartass of a man. He is retired navy. He was in WW2. He has always had a mustache. And a goatee.
And he has been my surrogate daddy for my whole life.
Where my grandmother was the anger, he was the joy. Where she was the chaos, he was the calm. He was far from perfect, and loved to antagonize, I won’t deny that. But he was the laid back to her uptight. The sarcasm to her seriousness. And although no one knows how, they have now been married for 55 + years.
He was not without fault, though. He cheated on my grandmother many, many years ago. He drank, sometimes. He was a shit stirrer.
But the man had a heart of gold.
I also know little about my grandfather’s childhood. I would give anything to have recorded all the stories he used to tell. And there were many. I know he had several brothers. He lied to get into the Navy, and he was raised in Wheeling, West Virginia.
Now. The aftermath.
The kids.
Like I said before, my grandmother was married 4 times. One of her marriages, to a man named Jimmy, produced her two boys, Dale James and Jack Wade Rose. Her fourth and last marriage to my grandfather, gave her the two girls. Tanya and Rietta Rose, who later became Tanya Rose Manuel, and Rietta Rose Krupps (and then Rietta Rose Fikstad)
The repercussions of their childhood scars echoed throughout their lives.
Especially with the girls, I might add. While the boys were taught to be free thinkers, and to live their own lives, my grandmother had herself firmly rooted in the minds of her daughters, and they lived their whole lives according to her will. My mother lived with, or right next to my grandmother, for her whole life. My aunt Rietta still cannot stand up to my grandmother when she has her silly, childish rants. She doesn’t under stand how I, at only 21, can look at my grandmother, sit her down, and say “I love you. But stop. Now.”
Why? Because I demand respect from my family. This is a new revelation to them.
I do not tolerate stupidity from any of them.
James was a druggie and drinker as well. They also had to commit him once. He beat my aunt Shirley half to death several times. My grandmother even begged her to leave him, but she swore to stay by his side. But somehow or another, he challenged his inner demons and won. Although I was never close to him, I do have vague memories of a gruff looking man, who when he did actually smile, lit up a room. He like so many other members of my family, could only heal themselves by blind faith. But in their cases, I am thankful for it. People do what they have to survive.
He died in the fall of 2004. Aunt Shirley stayed with him to the end. He had 3 children, Kim, Dale, and Daniel, and 5 grandchildren.
Jack, became a preacher.
He married my Aunt Denise, and they had one child, Michelle, and his two kids Wade and Tammy. (he had two from a previous marriage)
Jack I suppose was the family success story. Or so my grandmother would have told. If you took a vote today, anyone would tell you he was and is her favorite of her kids.
Jack was not always so saintly though. He “backslid” as the Christians like to call it, and became a total asshole. My grandmother liked to say it was because “he was fighting god” but when in reality, it was just simply because he.. Was an asshole.
He has changed a bit though. Like I said earlier, my family always deals with their problems by becoming sheep. He has “returned to the flock”, and is at least more.. Tolerable now. Although he still irritates me to no end.
He still lives in Scott Depot, West Virginia. He owns a... paintball field.
Yeeeeee-haw.
My mother.
My mother was a sweet, yet tortured soul. She was emotionally distraught. And very damaged.
My mother was a heavyset girl as a child. And she let it hold her back. Even though she was not “fat”. I’d say in high school she was perhaps a size.. 16?
So was Marilyn Monroe.
Yet she believed she was the most hideous, ugly thing ever created.
But my mother was an.. Angel.
Her senior picture sits by my desk now even as I type these words. And I cannot believe I came from someone so beautiful. Her skin was like porcelain. Her eyes like clear blue water, and her hair like strands of sunlight. Where my aunt was the darker beauty, with olive skin and dark hair who took after my grandmother... the exotic beauty, my mother, on the other hand, was the fair, innocent, pure beauty. She defiantly took after my blond haired, blue eyed grandfather.
She was calm, sweet, and meek. She liked to avoid confrontations, and often times, let herself be hurt to keep others from being hurt themselves.
She only had one child, me of course. Although she always carried a “horrible secret” that she swore she would explain to me one day, but she never had the chance to. I later found out that she had gotten pregnant very young, and was pressured into having an abortion by the man when had gotten her pregnant. I wish she would have told me so I could tell her that it was okay. That I didn’t look down on her like she was sure I would.
Mom married, and subsequently, divorced, my father twice. She always loved him. And was devastated when he died. She never married again.
She died January 4th, 2000. The day after my 16th birthday. She was 48. She would be 53 on December 16th of 2005.
My aunt Rietta is the antagonist of my family. To be honest, most of my family can’t stand her, and I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t either. I admit, she was born very sick. And still is. But that is no excuse for being a complete and total pain in the ass who always wants to cause problems. She is addicted to pain medication. Most of the time when you talk to her, you can’t even understand what it is she’s saying. She is constantly crying about something.
Although she doesn’t claim to currently be a “Christian”, she still holds to those same ideals and stays with her horribly verbally abusive husband, Dennis, because the bible says it’s a sin to get divorced.
She has been married twice I believe. The first husband, Charlie, was a terrible, terrible man. I hated him. He tormented me a kid. He was also a complete extremist, and treated Rietta like complete shit. He left her and decided it was cool to remarry without bothering to get divorced.
That was fun.
I do love my aunt. Although I hate what she has become. She does not live, she simply “exists”. And that is a miserable existence. She is content to be desolate. To stay on SSI for the rest of her life. To stay on pills for the rest of her life.
I cannot respect that. She wallows in her own self pity like a pig in slop.
And not to mention she can completely either annoy the piss out of someone, or make them utterly hate her from the moment she opens her mouth.
THAT takes talent.
So as you see, the effect trickles down.
Every single one of them has at one point had some pretty good issues with substance abuse. Every single one of them feel as if they have to suffer for god. They were all “martyrs” of some sort. They are all weak. And all very, very sad people.
It is the curse of this family. And I have spent the past 10 years of my life trying to do away with that. So far as to say that if I cannot retain a decent, healthy life for myself, and fix my own problems, I will NEVER HAVE CHILDREN. Even as much as my heart years for them. I won’t put another innocent life into the same thing I was tossed into.
xoxo,
Desiree
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able.
Dar Williams - Christians and the Pagans
Ah. My Family.
What a motley crew of dysfunction, confusion, and just plain ol’ issues.
Our story begins may years ago with a beautiful woman named Lattie Josephine Darby. Also known as Lattie Jo. My grandmother.
Born and raised deep in “Cajun” country, my grandmother spent pretty much all of her life in the southeastern part of Texas. Her mother, who I have only seen pictures of, was a very short, half Indian woman, who was a devout Christian.
I don’t know a tremendous amount about my grandmother’s life when she was young. I know that her brother was shot down in WW1, and another brother was also lost before his time. But her life that I do know about, was absolutely riddled with tragedy.
My grandmother watched her beloved mother get run over by a drunk driver while on her way to church. Not only did he run over her, he backed up and ran over her again. She was 4'11. By the time he was done, she was over 6 feet long.
She lost her father in a horrific accident where he had a heart attack while driving, and fell out of the car as it rolled. He was flung from the car, and his head was actually run over. My two uncles were also in the car, suspended and hanging upside-down by their legs, no where to stare but at their grandfather’s now flattened head. They too, almost died in the accident.
But wait. There’s more.
She has now watched her oldest son, and oldest daughter die. My uncle James, from brain cancer, and my mother from congestive heart failure and related complications, including sleep apnea. And now, her husband is withering away with Alzheimer’s disease.
She has been married 4 times.
My grandmother, when my mother was young, was also a raging alcoholic. I have heard many stories of absolute horror. Shooting at my grandfather, drunken rants, and my personal favorite, asking my mother “If I shot your daddy, would you testify against me in court?”
It is true that the people that have been horrible, turn out to be the polar opposite.
That is my grandmother.
My grandmother was up for actually being crowned “Miss US Navy”, but she actually dropped out of the competition because she had “found god” and didn’t think it was right to wear a bathing suit in public.
And so it began.
But no amount of radical change could possibly undo all the damage that had been done.
My grandfather, Vincent Leo Rose, is, and always has been, a witty, charming smartass of a man. He is retired navy. He was in WW2. He has always had a mustache. And a goatee.
And he has been my surrogate daddy for my whole life.
Where my grandmother was the anger, he was the joy. Where she was the chaos, he was the calm. He was far from perfect, and loved to antagonize, I won’t deny that. But he was the laid back to her uptight. The sarcasm to her seriousness. And although no one knows how, they have now been married for 55 + years.
He was not without fault, though. He cheated on my grandmother many, many years ago. He drank, sometimes. He was a shit stirrer.
But the man had a heart of gold.
I also know little about my grandfather’s childhood. I would give anything to have recorded all the stories he used to tell. And there were many. I know he had several brothers. He lied to get into the Navy, and he was raised in Wheeling, West Virginia.
Now. The aftermath.
The kids.
Like I said before, my grandmother was married 4 times. One of her marriages, to a man named Jimmy, produced her two boys, Dale James and Jack Wade Rose. Her fourth and last marriage to my grandfather, gave her the two girls. Tanya and Rietta Rose, who later became Tanya Rose Manuel, and Rietta Rose Krupps (and then Rietta Rose Fikstad)
The repercussions of their childhood scars echoed throughout their lives.
Especially with the girls, I might add. While the boys were taught to be free thinkers, and to live their own lives, my grandmother had herself firmly rooted in the minds of her daughters, and they lived their whole lives according to her will. My mother lived with, or right next to my grandmother, for her whole life. My aunt Rietta still cannot stand up to my grandmother when she has her silly, childish rants. She doesn’t under stand how I, at only 21, can look at my grandmother, sit her down, and say “I love you. But stop. Now.”
Why? Because I demand respect from my family. This is a new revelation to them.
I do not tolerate stupidity from any of them.
James was a druggie and drinker as well. They also had to commit him once. He beat my aunt Shirley half to death several times. My grandmother even begged her to leave him, but she swore to stay by his side. But somehow or another, he challenged his inner demons and won. Although I was never close to him, I do have vague memories of a gruff looking man, who when he did actually smile, lit up a room. He like so many other members of my family, could only heal themselves by blind faith. But in their cases, I am thankful for it. People do what they have to survive.
He died in the fall of 2004. Aunt Shirley stayed with him to the end. He had 3 children, Kim, Dale, and Daniel, and 5 grandchildren.
Jack, became a preacher.
He married my Aunt Denise, and they had one child, Michelle, and his two kids Wade and Tammy. (he had two from a previous marriage)
Jack I suppose was the family success story. Or so my grandmother would have told. If you took a vote today, anyone would tell you he was and is her favorite of her kids.
Jack was not always so saintly though. He “backslid” as the Christians like to call it, and became a total asshole. My grandmother liked to say it was because “he was fighting god” but when in reality, it was just simply because he.. Was an asshole.
He has changed a bit though. Like I said earlier, my family always deals with their problems by becoming sheep. He has “returned to the flock”, and is at least more.. Tolerable now. Although he still irritates me to no end.
He still lives in Scott Depot, West Virginia. He owns a... paintball field.
Yeeeeee-haw.
My mother.
My mother was a sweet, yet tortured soul. She was emotionally distraught. And very damaged.
My mother was a heavyset girl as a child. And she let it hold her back. Even though she was not “fat”. I’d say in high school she was perhaps a size.. 16?
So was Marilyn Monroe.
Yet she believed she was the most hideous, ugly thing ever created.
But my mother was an.. Angel.
Her senior picture sits by my desk now even as I type these words. And I cannot believe I came from someone so beautiful. Her skin was like porcelain. Her eyes like clear blue water, and her hair like strands of sunlight. Where my aunt was the darker beauty, with olive skin and dark hair who took after my grandmother... the exotic beauty, my mother, on the other hand, was the fair, innocent, pure beauty. She defiantly took after my blond haired, blue eyed grandfather.
She was calm, sweet, and meek. She liked to avoid confrontations, and often times, let herself be hurt to keep others from being hurt themselves.
She only had one child, me of course. Although she always carried a “horrible secret” that she swore she would explain to me one day, but she never had the chance to. I later found out that she had gotten pregnant very young, and was pressured into having an abortion by the man when had gotten her pregnant. I wish she would have told me so I could tell her that it was okay. That I didn’t look down on her like she was sure I would.
Mom married, and subsequently, divorced, my father twice. She always loved him. And was devastated when he died. She never married again.
She died January 4th, 2000. The day after my 16th birthday. She was 48. She would be 53 on December 16th of 2005.
My aunt Rietta is the antagonist of my family. To be honest, most of my family can’t stand her, and I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t either. I admit, she was born very sick. And still is. But that is no excuse for being a complete and total pain in the ass who always wants to cause problems. She is addicted to pain medication. Most of the time when you talk to her, you can’t even understand what it is she’s saying. She is constantly crying about something.
Although she doesn’t claim to currently be a “Christian”, she still holds to those same ideals and stays with her horribly verbally abusive husband, Dennis, because the bible says it’s a sin to get divorced.
She has been married twice I believe. The first husband, Charlie, was a terrible, terrible man. I hated him. He tormented me a kid. He was also a complete extremist, and treated Rietta like complete shit. He left her and decided it was cool to remarry without bothering to get divorced.
That was fun.
I do love my aunt. Although I hate what she has become. She does not live, she simply “exists”. And that is a miserable existence. She is content to be desolate. To stay on SSI for the rest of her life. To stay on pills for the rest of her life.
I cannot respect that. She wallows in her own self pity like a pig in slop.
And not to mention she can completely either annoy the piss out of someone, or make them utterly hate her from the moment she opens her mouth.
THAT takes talent.
So as you see, the effect trickles down.
Every single one of them has at one point had some pretty good issues with substance abuse. Every single one of them feel as if they have to suffer for god. They were all “martyrs” of some sort. They are all weak. And all very, very sad people.
It is the curse of this family. And I have spent the past 10 years of my life trying to do away with that. So far as to say that if I cannot retain a decent, healthy life for myself, and fix my own problems, I will NEVER HAVE CHILDREN. Even as much as my heart years for them. I won’t put another innocent life into the same thing I was tossed into.
xoxo,
Desiree