(no subject)
so this weekend I'm digging through old photographs of my father's family with my uncle. Tim is easily my favorite of my father’s brothers. he is a bitter cynical (raging) alcoholic who mocks the less intelligent, but somehow very charming and genuine. anyway. flipping through a stack of pictures I come to one of a very old man sitting on a very old porch, not looking at the camera. he looks like a darker-skinned, sprightlier looking James Earl Jones with a full beard.
when I inquire to Tim who the gentlemen in the picture is, he explains that he was the man who raised my grandfather. my dad's dad was born in new york as a bastard child (one of two. his twin brother drowned at the age of five). his father felt obligated to provide for his son, but not to his wife’s disgrace of raising the child of her adulterine husband. so he hired a black farmer to raise my grandfather and for the most part broke off contact with him after he was taken into the farmer’s care.
Tim goes on to tell me how it does elucidate a lot about his character. my grandfather harbored an intense healthy distrust of the Man, fierce intolerance of racism, and a passion for blues music. this information about his life from age 1-18 was not intentionally kept from me, I just never thought to ask about his childhood because I assumed it was relatively normal.
I don’t have very many raw memories of my grandfather. I remember a scotch and cigar smoke voice, tattooed arms, red hair barely even touched with grey (though he was in his sixties), dark rimmed glasses.
sometimes I get intense desires to know who my family is.