Thanksgiving in Ohio – The Recap

I haven’t been to Toledo in over 5 years. Every other member of my family made it out to my grandpa’s funeral last Winter except me; the one flight arriving on the evening before the funeral was cancelled. I’m not sure if I’ve told that to many of you. It was awful to keep hearing, “Sorry you couldn’t make it to Rex’s funeral, it would have been great to hear you speak. The service was lovely.”

Seeing my family was kind of nice, in spite of the setting being one of the more depressing cities you can imagine. Everyone who didn’t see me at Ryan’s wedding in June commented on how much I’ve grown. Besides that, I was pretty much left out of conversations, which was okay with me.

We stayed at my grandma’s house (my dad’s mom) in South Toledo. Everything is exactly as it was when my dad’s family moved there when he was in high school. On our first night in town we looked through slides dating back to the early 1970’s and recognized, in some of them, the TV that was still sitting next to the projector screen. The card table we played on in the living room has a drawer that houses the deck of cards we use next to a score card that has my late grandpa’s hand writing on it (he passed away in 1988). While talking to my brother on the phone, he asked if the clock in the dining room was still stopped at 12:00. It was.

When I visited Ohio as a kid, I didn’t quite understand what was going on. My brother and I would go off exploring somewhere, or hang out with cousins of the relatively same age, and leave the grown ups to converse. For most of this trip however, I was left to be an adult among adults and I really didn’t enjoy it.

When was it okay for me to be let in on conversations about the financial wreck most of my family is in? I don’t remember talk of foreclosures and ruined credit during any previous trips. As a kid, I remember being amused by things like the obesity of my extended family, the deafness of my grandma, or the out of control spending habits of my aunt. Not as funny now. None of my cousins of the relatively same age have gone to college, although two of them could have graduated by now. The brightest one, a year younger than I, had the opportunity to go, but turned it down and is now living with his older brother who has an ongoing battle with drug addiction. This living situation could either result in a moment of realization and resilience or another child my aunt and uncle will try to send through rehab. Everyone in that side of the family seems to be looking positively towards the future in spite of their hardships. Each cousin talked of enrolling in various educational programs in the near future. I hope dearly for their success.

Most of my visit and frustration was with my grandma. From what I experienced, her racism has gotten better, but her hearing has gotten worse. She actually let a black waiter take her plate during one lunch out and only privately complained to the manager later instead of making a scene of it like what happened last time I visited. Her inability to hear has gotten completely ridiculous. When we dare take her in public, she still points and laughs at anyone she sees with hearing aids or glasses. “Look at those stupid things in her ears,” she’ll say in what she thinks is a whisper, but is actually at a level that turns heads. Every single time the phone rang while we were visiting, even if she was next to it, someone would have to yell to her that the phone was ringing, give up, get up, and answer it themselves. A typical conversation between her and my dad would be as follows (I tried to remember this word for word to bring back as an example):

Dad: [Telling a story in the front seat of the car]

Grandma: [Accidentally interrupting from the back seat because she had no idea that dad was talking] Do you remember Phil Garrett?

Dad: Yea. [Uncle] Jeff’s friend from school?

Grandma: You know him?

Dad: [Louder] Jeff’s friend?

Grandma: Jeff’s friend from St. John’s?

Dad: Yes I remember him.

Grandma: From St. John’s, remember?

Dad: [Practically yelling] Yes, I remember.

Grandma: You don’t?

Dad: I do, I do remember.

Grandma: Oh, well, I sat behind his mom at church on Sunday. I think she moved into those new apartments down by Swan Creek. [The story continues for a much longer time with specific details about the life of a woman we don’t know or care about].

I should feel sorry for someone who has lost an entire sense, but it is really hard, especially when she refuses to get correction out of vanity. It’s impossible to interact socially with her at all. She won’t hear you. She won’t get it.

It’s difficult to express the simultaneous pity and anger I feel. Grandma is horribly, horribly lonely, and yet she is the most selfish woman I have ever met. She told my mom that she wished my Aunt Jennie would never have married her husband or would leave him and come back home to live with her forever. The amount of psychological damage she has actually done to Jennie is horrifying and impossible to really explain without seeing the two of them interact.

I was the only one drinking fairly heavily on Thanksgiving Day (due, I suppose, in part to three family members being recovering alcoholics [who thankfully remained sober]). One of my parents would pour me a glass of wine and say, “Thanks for coming, sorry about this.”

Fucking Ohio. I tell ya. I’m glad my family got out. I don’t enjoy seeing my family's roots withering like this.

On the plus side, it’s raining here in Virginia. The drought may be over.

Xoxo,
Colin