HISTORY PEOPLE IN OUR MIDST

History people carry a little extra with them.

That’s the off-putting part because too many of them add their own extras.

Does history need extra, or is ‘what happened’ good enough?

I’m in the ‘good enough’ camp, and here’s why:

My mom used to tell me I was too young to know important things. Maybe she was right?

“I’ll tell you when you’re old enough to understand.”

Well, if I’m not old enough now I’ve got a problem.

So my big statement to baby boomers, people who identify as boomers, or those seeking boomer approval?

You are old enough to know things. But what things?

Let’s start with the bullshit because boomers have heard a load of it all their lives.

Starting with:

“Things will be different when you grow up.”

2

With my parents, things were different considering where they started.

Way different.

My mom was the daughter of my divorced Grandma in the 1930’s.

How bad was her marriage that she wanted a divorce when divorce carried a bigger social stigma?

Grandpa: Well honey, I know how women feel during pregnancy so I’ve lined up the lady down the street for sex, so you can relax.

Grandma didn’t like way that sounded, so she got divorced.

She remarried in the early 40’s, meeting my best Grandpa at a USO dance where she served punch.

Yes, they saw each other across a crowded room.

Some enchanted evening, you may see a stranger
You may see a stranger across a crowded room
And somehow you know, you’ll know even then
That somewhere you’ll see her again and again

Some enchanted evening, someone may be laughing
You may hear her laughing across a crowded room
And night after night, as strange as it seems
The sound of her laughter will sing in your dreams

Soon after, Grandpa shipped out for the South Pacific for the duration of WWII and my Mom and Grandma moved from Dallas, Texas to Orofino, Idaho.

With her new Mother-In-Law.

I hope Grandpa heard the their laughter in his dreams.

There may be seventeen things to do in Orofino, Idaho, but moving in with Mother Marshall isn’t one of them.

When my Mom said things would be better when I grew up, she was right.

History people might call this an epiphany.

I call it a relief so many years later. Grandpa and Grandma were a rare breed.

Further On Down The Line With History People

My uncle graduated high school in 1964.

With diploma in hand, he told his parents he was gay.

It was a stunner.

After the war, the family reunited and moved to a small out of the way logging town in Central Oregon called Bend.

My momma grew up and graduated near the top of her class, skipping grades because she was so smart like her mom.

Grandma and Grandma had kids together.

Their oldest broke his gay news to his parents who had become stalwart citizens.

They were proud Presbyterians who did the Lord’s work in the community, but the news from their son squeezed them a little too much.

Grandma: If you’re gay you can’t live here. We’ve got roots, commitments, plans. We have friends, we know people.

She was on the verge of joining the city leadership as the only woman on the team.

Uncle: Fine. If you want to see me, I’ll be in San Francisco.

And he was gone, just like that.

2

My Grandparents recognized their mistake. They missed their boy.

And they made amends like it was going out of style.

They became community activists for gay rights, battered women, and families having trouble accepting their own kids.

As parents they discovered their love for their son was greater than their fear of being ostracized.

They put themselves out in the open as a resource, a lesson for everyone.

Instead of hiding, pretending the truth was something other than the truth, they became the sort of role models against hatred and bigotry that makes for a better community.

They became history people of the first rank, but a quiet history.

When It’s Your Turn To Be History People

The top image is a history museum crew posing outside the Van Of History, an exhibit that toured the state.

I’m the squatter.

The center image is inside a larger picture of ship building during WWII at the Kaiser shipyards.

Years from now someone might look at the image of history people and wonder who they are, just like we look at the image of ship building from the 40’s and can’t recognize anyone.

And that’s fine.

You may know someone who said their relatives worked in the Oregonship yards. One of the people with their backs turned might be their Grandpa.

Who’s going to argue? No one. Why not let someone have their moment of awareness.

But, there’s always someone who wants to drill down on a harmless memory and prove them wrong.

This is when you ask yourself what is worse, the person who clings to a fading memory of a loved one, or the jackass who poisons the moment with their specious observation.

One fulfills a human need, the other is bullying bullshit.

Which one do you favor?