Plausible
Undeniability
by Gil A. Waters
Because I grew
up in a bland, East Coast suburb far removed from
my Midwestern roots, I rarely met any of my
extended family members. Of course, since the
invention of the automobile and the airplane,
geographical distance only goes so far in
explaining the dearth of family connections
experienced by people such as myself. A
certain degree of emotional distance is also to
blame. In my case, this was due in large part to
the fact that the families of my mother and
father were unlikely to view one another with any
sense of familiarity, let alone friendliness.
Although
neither side of my family was over-populated by
over-achievers, at least my mother’s side
included professional musicians and artists who
lived in real cities like New York. My
father’s family was more likely to include
professional railroad and carnival workers in
Wichita. It was differences like these that
bespoke a gaping chasm in world view within my
extended family unit.
The full
breadth and depth of the un-familiarity between
the two halves of my lineage became alarmingly
clear to me during my first adult meeting with my
father’s brother, Billy. I remember
this encounter with the intensity of a childhood
nightmare. My then-wife and I were in the
midst of a cross-continental marathon: driving
from coast to coast with only a couple of over-night
stops in which we slept in a bed. Since Wichita
was on the way, we took advantage of my
birthright to stay at Uncle Billy’s for free.
I was
disappointed to find that my uncle bore more than
a passing resemblance to my father; stocky, bald,
and devoid of the refined Irish facial features I
shared with my mother. I was more perturbed by
the Pat Robertson book displayed on the living-room
bookshelf and the sound of Rush Limbaugh’s
voice emanating from the radio on the bathroom
sink. I could have derived some comfort from the
placement of Mr. Limbaugh next to the toilet and
the fact that my uncle knew how to read. But
it was too horrifying to admit that I was closely
related by blood to someone who felt an affinity
for the psychotic wing of the American Right. It
was incontrovertible proof of my long-standing
suspicion that I belonged to a family which had
swung down from the trees and into the trailer.
I couldn’t
be too surprised by this unveiling of my inferior
cultural pedigree, however. My father had
told me stories about his intellectually stunted
childhood and the barbaric customs of his —
our — extended family. There were the
cousins who moved from Wichita to Oklahoma City
to be closer to Oral Roberts. And the aunts who
prayed along with the televangelist by placing
one hand on the television screen and the other
around a large glass of hard liquor. But there
was a comic-book quality to these stories that
stripped away any sense of connection to the
characters and events my father described. I
could still pretend, with seeming plausibility,
that I was my mother’s child, but not my
father’s son.
Standing there
in Uncle Billy’s living room, however, the
veil of surreality lifted and a terrifying pall
of undeniability took its place. Not only were
conservative troglodytes teeming and breeding
throughout the barren landscape of Middle America,
but I was one of their kinfolk. I felt dirty, as
if I needed to soak myself in bleach for a few
weeks to remove the genetic stain. But, like Lady
Macbeth, I have no hope of removing that damned
spot that marks each cell of my Midwestern body.
I have never
returned to the land of my birth since that
fateful, cross-country drive, although I have
flown over it with my eyes shut. But I’ve
been unable to escape the tangled web of kinship
that is my inheritance. When Aunt Martha
dies, I’m sure to get a call from Cousin
Betty, telling me how the funeral went, how Uncle
Verne is holding up, and how all of us should
really try to stay in touch. Chances are that I
won’t know who Cousin Betty is and will have
only the vaguest recollection of Aunt Martha and
Uncle Verne, but I will offer my condolences and
pledge to do my best to keep the family tree
alive.
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