Doomed I tell you, from the start

"HA. Great stuff...thanks." 
 ~Bob Illes 
I messaged this to Bob on Facebook wondering what he would think of my attempt at some comedy since he is/was THE comedy writer. 

I started this whole lifetime out wrong.  Wrong side of the tracks.  Wrong family. Wrong genes. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.  My petri dish runneth over with dysfunction and dis-ease.  I can even trace my troubles back to before birth.  In fact, two generations back when the "sins of the father" declaration was visited upon my own recalcitrant granddad.  As the Book says punishment will be served up through the third and fourth generations after making God mad.  I am the third and gratefully with no children of my own, God can take a break.

But, Granddad did it all right.  Or all wrong, I should say.  He got the Christian (surname) family's indentured servant preggers.  As you might imagine this did not sit well with those from one of the oldest lineages in history, albeit much diluted by then to mostly business people, landowner/farmers, and a few professionals like Dr. Bob Christian who discovered a cure for hoof and mouth disease and was on Time magazine's cover.

One of the notable features of the geneology I once saw was that the Christian family was traceable to Ancient times. They later clustered on the Isle of Man off the English coast.  There is reference to  Fletcher Christian coming from the Isle of Man.  The William Christian lineage of my grandfather were the original branch to reach America.  They settled around the Virginia area.

Granddad's immediate ancestors were of the minister variety.  Baptist and Methodist mostly with seminary education.  Despite the descent to the clergy from loftier heights, the lineage had done pretty well until granddad got grandma pregnant.  Then all hell broke loose.

There was mutiny.  Granddad got entirely cut off from the family resources.  He did not receive the education that his siblings had and unlike his brother who chose to be a farmer in the small town of St. John, Kansas, he did not get the beau coup acreage to raise cattle and grains.  Instead, he worked as a mechanic for Boeing.  He was bright enough that they trained him in some special program and transferred him to troubleshoot where Boeing needed help.

Grandma, Aunt Patty and I moved every time.  We lived in a log cabin in Denver, a beautiful place overlooking Puget Sound and in Northern California near Fairfield Air Force base.  Despite the lack of roots and stable friendships (probably another explanation for all my pathology) I enjoyed living different places.

When we were in Kansas, Grandad's family were nice enough to always call him when they needed something fixed or heavy lifting done.  The relationship was quite strained even despite grandma's domestic goddess abilities to charm them.  She canned everything in season.  Peaches, apples, berries...you name it.  She awakened at 5am with granddad and cooked his hearty breakfast.  Her days went something like this.  Morning - sew Chrys new school dresses-add extra touches like an embroidered collar, crochet shawl for Pat.  Afternoon - bake apple pie for Chrys and Dad, cook homemade chicken and noodles for dinner.  Evening - embroider bib for neighbors new baby, take jam to great grandma.

My great grandparents were fond of me so he took me to see them often.  I staged the kid's family Christmas productions.  Great grandma played organ and we entertained the adults.  I must have been 7 or 8 when I started directing my cousins in those productions.

Great grandad was a Methodist minister and I would be dropped off by grandma and grandad, his son, at church every Sunday.  They never stayed.  I realize only now that it was probably because they did not feel worthy not necessarily because they did not believe.  Maybe they even (secretly) wanted to attend but feared God's judgment.