In and Out
It’s back to my mini memoir. So far it feels pretty ragged. I’ve talked about World War II and religion. There will be more on those later. Right now, it’s time for family. I’m the oldest of four boys. What I remember about my childhood is moving a lot and always being the new kid. For an additional bit of spice, my ears protruded. I was called Dumbo and elephant ears. A Naval surgeon reconstructed them for me shortly after my freshman year in high school, but my self-image took a hard hit, even to this day.
Luckily, my family and the Catholic church were two constants that never wavered. My father’s brother was a career Air Force man and as luck would have it our two families were often stationed close together. Also, my father adored his mother, and we went back to Texas every chance we got. As a bonus, his other brother lived there, close to his mother. So, I had cousins from coast to coast with lots of aunts and uncles who seemed to think I was pretty cool. My mother’s family was also in play, but we never got to Ohio as often as we went to Texas. It didn’t help that her mother and father were already gone. That’s a pity, I think.
What all of this gave me was a great sense of safety whenever I’m with my family, and a radar up approach to the rest of the world. The former is a constant, while the latter is a mélange of people coming and going. Family is security and there’s no question you belong. The rest of the world requires alertness to the surroundings, and there’s always the question of belonging and the concurrent problem of how much of yourself you want to sacrifice for that approbation. It’s a delicate and sometimes exhausting dance. But it’s worth doing when you get it right, which is why I keep trying.
Part 19, Living in America: An Old Man’s Journey into His Past