My first memory of my cousins, the Jacksons, was when we lived in Morgantown, West Virginia, and my dad wanted to call his sister Jo, Josephine, who was living with her husband and children in Missouri. He was an air force pilot, I think, still by then. This was in the late 1950’s. It was an exciting event because Dad had to call an operator, who promised to patch the long distance call through, and, when she had done so, would connect us. OK, so we were in West Virginia, and they were in Missouri, so there’s that.
Jo was the youngest of the Jarecki kids. (I don’t think I’ve explained this before. “Jarecki” was the family name when Grandpa Josef Jarecki immigrated from East Prussia—later reconstituted as Poland. My dad felt some discrimination as a Pole, so he changed it to “Jarecke” and told everyone we were German. Consider the wisdom of identifying with a people who murdered six million Jews.) Jo was a nurse in the Pacific when she met a pilot wounded in World War II. Her husband, John Jackson, Jake, came out of it with a plate in his head.
So they were very different from us. My parents were both university people, while Jo and Jake were staunchly military. When their 18 year old daughter, Allison, married a Marine, everyone was thrilled for their prospects, though they later got a divorce. Jo and Jake had a bunch of kids: the oldest, Joellen, was my brother’s age; then came the rebellious one, Marcy, who married a Marine on a motorcycle, named Reno, because of course he was; Melody, about my age; Allison; and Jerry, a few years younger than me. Hmmm. I may have confused Allison’s and Jerry’s ages.
But the disconnect wasn’t just military vs. civilian. Forgive me, but there was a class difference. I don’t recall who Jake’s parents were, but they weren’t educated, maybe from an Oklahoma farm family. Jake had a lot of rough edges of which he was inordinately proud.
In the event, I didn’t have a lot of connection with them. When the Jareckis gathered in Glen Lyon, PA, they were always absent due to military commitments. It was better that way; Jake was completely unlike the Jarecki uncles, who were quiet, polite, kind, and deferential. Jake was loud, opinionated, and came off as not very bright, which couldn’t have been true.
Years went by from 1958 or whenever that was. Jake retired and they moved to Orlando, and, when we were in Ft. Lauderdale, they visited us maybe in 1968 or so. I don’t remember how many children they brought.
It’s so hard to recall what it was like to be around them, though I always felt, this isn’t right. The only boy, Jerry, or JJ, was younger than me, and I would say that he was presumptuous but it may have simply been the innocence of youth in a new and welcoming place: he acted like he knew he belonged. In his place, I would have been nervous and obsequious.
When I was a student at Auburn, I had a girlfriend at Florida State, in Tallahassee, where Melody was in college. Somehow I connected with her, and we had a short conversation. I don’t recall any substance; the meeting was simply a moment in time.
Then when I was getting my MFA at UNC-Greensboro, in 1974, one of them got married. Maybe Melody? The wedding was probably in Florida. We were invited, and at least my parents and I attended. Truly the only thing I recall about that wedding is that the groom’s side all wore baby blue suits.
I do remember one other thing. I had grown a full beard and mustache during my first MFA year. My father made me shave it off for the wedding, despite my protests. At the wedding JJ and all of the other males wore beards and mustaches. I was beyond angry with my father.
Of course he would be unable to anticipate what my cousins and their friends were up to. I don’t remember anything else because I don’t think there was anything else. Probably a reception? To which I may remember that we were not invited? I dimly recall something about a pizza on motel beds.
I’ve been writing this blog for 143 posts now, and I’m often complimented on what I’m told is an amazing memory. I think it says something that I can recall so little about the Jacksons.
Time goes by. I received my MFA in creative writing, then returned to Auburn to teach for six years. Next was law school. In due course, I fell in love with a nice woman, Nancy Plant, and we agreed to marry.
It would be a small wedding: in the event, 36 of immediate family and best friends. It was a pretty good time with only close family and best friends invited. But our fathers had just died in the last year and a half, so it was tough on the moms.
Nancy’s mother’s Catholicism dictated that it occur in the Roman Catholic Church in Chapel Hill. Father Loony, or whatever his name was, had to be reminded to appear. When Nancy with her typical attention to detail checked in with the rectory, it appeared that Father intended to be in Mexico at about then. Thus corrected, he did attend, but he was ancient and had to refer to the wedding program to remember our names. But he didn’t make us go to any pre-marital hoohaw, which is not nothing. I forget what it’s called,.
That does not explain, however, why my mother insisted on inviting the Jacksons. I was virulently opposed; I hadn’t seen any of them for years and didn’t like them. I suppose Mom wanted some representative from my dad’s family there. Why? It didn’t matter to me, and Dad was dead and wouldn’t have cared even if he were alive, I’m confident.
It wasn’t nice of me to object, but it was my wedding after all. A typical wedding situation. Let’s emphasize that my mother wasn’t related to the Jacksons except by marriage.
Aside from Jake, Jo, and JJ, I don’t recall how many Jacksons were there. They must have come to the rehearsal dinner, as out of town guests. I didn’t notice.
But on the wedding day, they showed up nearly as the ceremony was to begin. Uncle Jake, quite the fighter pilot, claimed that he had found a short cut to the church. Just no. Their route was to turn left out of the motel, drive up the hill, then right into the church’s parking lot. But Jake had found his goddamn shortcut.
Jack compounded his standing as favorite wedding guest when I gave my short speech at the reception. First I thanked the out of town guests who had come from the west coast, Michigan, and of course Florida. Uncle Jake, always the wit, shouted out, “We’ll send you a bill.” I ignored him.
Later, after dinner, I noticed JJ talking to my cousin Betsy and rather confidentially at that. JJ was maybe a couple of years older and inches shorter. She was at Vassar, a gorgeous strawberry blonde, and completely out of his league.
Later I asked Betsy if JJ had been coming on to her. “Yes,” she said, her voice mild and dismissive. I apologized. It turns out that he had cornered her in a motel room where people were having drinks. “Want to get away from here and get a drink?” he inquired. Betsy reported politely declining.
Weeks later, over the phone, Jo complained to Mom that her side of the family “would have liked more time with the cousins.”
Uh, my brother and sister, cousins to her kids, were there. Obviously she was complaining that I hadn’t chatted them up. This was mean of me, but I didn’t want them there. Jo should complain directly to my mother about that one.
I’ve neither seen nor heard from a Jackson again. I don’t think my father would have been offended. My mother never commented. It’s just possible that she realized that she had made a mistake by inviting them, but history suggests otherwise. I have to face the fact that I’ve never done well with family.
That wedding? It would have been on August 11, 1984! 39 years! So this post is a sneaky anniversary card to my spouse.
Happy anniversary, Biskit! I love you always. There is truly no one I would rather spend time with than you. You are truly my soulmate. I don’t know what the afterlife entails, but you’d better be there. Otherwise I will not like it at all, not one bit.
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