Volume 44, Issue 8. Today is
Holiday roadtrip reveals old family history
My immediate family lives 3000 miles away, back east in Massachusetts. I have not seen them on, or returned home for the holidays in the past five years, except for two brief summer visits.
My extended family as a whole has not been in the same room together for at least 15 years.
I remember the holidays as a child, I loved getting presents, eating at the long table, and running around with my little brothers and cousins. After my grandmother died though, family relationships began to dissolve. For many years, contact between family members was sporadic at best, and holidays were no exception.
I did not return home for the holidays this year either.
My Grandpa Gail called me some time ago. He said, “Zach, we are going to Florida for Christmas, and we are going to have a marvelous time.”
All 17 members of my extended family got similar phone calls. Travel expenses and accommodations were paid for by my Grandpa, as well as dinner every day. It was settled. Everyone was going.
My girlfriend Nikki and I have done several road trips throughout the country, so we decided to do one more; from Tempe to St. Petersburg.
We bought fireworks in New Mexico, and spent the night in San Antonio after the first 16 hours on the road. We spent the following night in New Orleans at the center of the French Quarter, off Bourbon Street on Bienville. However, still drunk after a night of debauchery, we were unable to drive at the hotel checkout time. The receptionist gladly charged my card for a second night.
The 33-hour drive gave me a long while to think about everything that could go wrong once we reached Florida, given family history. In theory, I thought my grandfather had a great idea, but in the back of my mind I wondered how things would play out.
We were the last of the family to arrive in St. Petersburg the following day. On Christmas Eve, my Grandpa announced to everyone that he was going to give Part I of a two part speech following dinner. The speech entailed my entire family history.
On the first night we learned about our heritage from the Ukraine and England, poverty and war. Some of the stories were depressing, but we all looked at one another, smiling throughout dessert. The way my Grandpa tells a story is both serious and comical.
He talked about my great grandmother in Part II. My memory of her is clear. She had a raspy voice, stunk of cigarettes, and looked like Skeletor.
Turns out, she was hot during the depression, became a burlesque dancer and made enough money to move Grandpa to a better school and ride out the hard times. They were still poor he said, but they got by.
Yes, I learned this Christmas that my great grandmother was a stripper. We all did. As soon as my grandfather said “You are descendants of a diamond girl,” loud enough for the restaurant to hear, the smiles around the table became laughter.
The feeling of that ridiculous moment lasted beyond the meal. It was only one of many hilarious scenes that served to reinforce that rare holiday feeling of family.We set off the fireworks on the beach that night. Already a bit toasted, we clinked bottles and cans. Someone said “Here’s to Grandpa, thanks for bringing us.”
I raised my can and said, “Here’s to Granny, for taking her clothes off.”
My grandfather laughed, “I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.”