If you wanted a sterling example of the American Dream, you needn't look further than my Dad's side of the family.
His parents met after WWII in their home town of Santa Maria, CA. He was fresh out of the Navy (he was on subs in the Pacific), going to junior college on the G.I. Bill. She was just starting junior college after the horrible shock of her older brother's death, from electrocution, that occurred in North Africa after the war had ended. Since she was just 18 when they married, I assume courtship was brief. My father followed when she was just 19.
They were a typical small town postwar poor young couple. They lived with my great grandparents for a while, which, given my great grandmother's penchant for thinking my grandfather was a loser, couldn't have been easy. After a few years, they managed to buy a small ranch house in town, where my father and aunt grew up.
My grandfather was always in sales, first working in tractor parts, later in tires, until he owned his own small chain of tire stores. He's a prime example of success through hard work, sincere charm, and a good attitude. He was consistently kind, thoughtful, and greatly valued his family. He loved my grandmother; they were indeed a team and married for over 50 years.
My grandmother was the prototypical happy homemaker. She led the Betty Crocker lifestyle, raising kids and taking care of her family pretty much perfectly. On the other hand, she was also a bit of a depressive with a sharp tongue that could really cut my Dad down to size. She was not someone to cross, as many a Santa Maria teacher would come to find out. She was thin and tan, and glamourous in a very natural way. Yet, she also crocheted and knit, canned her own jalapeno jelly, made a plethora of cookies every Christmas. While sometimes I think she was very bored with the whole thing, she considered the home and family her job, and took great pride in holding it all together.
My Dad's childhood, then, was a classic American one. It was small town values, running free through endless farmer's fields (along with endless amounts of pesticide exposure, something I think contributed to his cancer), being poor but upwardly striving, being raised in a very intact and functional family unit. He was always the smartest kid in his school; he was valedictorian but didn't give the speech because he refused to have it "edited" by one of his teachers (he'd won a national speech competition the year before, and felt the teacher wasn't qualified for such a review). He won a basketball scholarship to UCLA, and became the first person in his family to earn a college degree.
My grandparents spent years without money, but by the time my Dad and Mom married, they were doing well. They ended up first remodeling their original house, then building a completely new house in Orcutt and moving there. My grandfather in particular delighted in his financial success, collecting Steuben art glass and indulging in a variety of hobbies. Their new house, build around an enormous great room with cushy carpet and a fireplace big enough to roast a moose, hosted the whole family every Christmas. It was merry there, and wonderfully warm and predictable. They were the ultimate grandparents, providing warmth and structure.
And my sister and I sorely needed that warmth and structure. As it turned out, my Dad was very good at pursuing the money and success part of the American Dream, but considerably less successful in terms of the family. I don't think it was all his fault. My grandparents were very good at their job, but not very good at passing the baton. Their children, my Dad and aunt, were always kids in their eyes, rather unqualified to take over the family duties. I don't think they meant to infantilize my Dad this way, but since I don't think he was naturally inclined toward home and hearth, it made it easier for Dad to never truly step up.
After my parents' divorce, when I was 21, the family scene got even more uneven. Dad got a new girlfriend (who became his second wife years later), she had a daughter from a previous relationship, and they didn't hit it off with my grandparents at all. Admittedly, my family was a tough room. Blood counted for a lot, and outsiders weren't given much trust or credit. Family gatherings became rather divided and uncomfortable. One year at Christmas, my grandmother gifted my Dad two stone garden statues, saying, "These represent your daughters. Put them in your garden, so you'll never forget them." Ouch.
As my Dad grew ever more successful and made tons of money, his lifestyle ratcheted up considerably. My grandparents lived rather modestly, but spent on family dinners. They took the entire family to Hawaii for two weeks for their 50th wedding anniversary. My grandfather bought beautiful custom made jewelry for my grandmother. My father, on the other hand, couldn't stop remodeling the house he'd originally built with my mother; my sister and I termed it the Winchester Mystery House because of the constant construction. While my grandparents were proud of all Dad had achieved, I think they felt betrayed and confused by his rejection of their values.
My grandmother passed away from cancer, my grandfather from pneumonia and grief a few years later. Their deaths signaled the end of the family unit on a lot of levels. Although my Dad would occasionally take everyone to dinner (a feat of gluttony; to watch him order "for the table" made you wonder how an inanimate object could eat that much), or host a dinner at his house, these events were few and far between. Perhaps he liked the idea of family, but the reality and the work involved didn't really thrill him. I ended up hosting a bunch of Christmas celebrations, and they went well. I'd like to think that I had good role models for that in my grandparents.
I think that maybe there's actually a "family" gene that my Dad just didn't possess, and my grandparents' willingness to take over the family duties into perpetuity encouraged Dad's genetic predisposition. He took family for granted; my grandparents made family paramount. Now that Dad is gone, I feel a sense of emptiness and loss in terms of family, but it's nothing compared to how I felt when my grandparents died. Now I feel a real sense of responsibility for the family, its stories, its strange traditions. Somehow, the family baton flew over his head and, I guess, hit me square in mine.
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