uncles, showing that he was a man. Greg would make allowances and resume his duties: the shopping, the minding of the three younger children, the ordering of the home.
He didn't always hate his mother. Wh|h she was even partly well, she could manage to look incredibly young and alive. They would go for walks or even skate together and she could he incredibly young, as young as he, and totally enter his child's world. He was intensely proud of her during these times and wanted everyone to see her. He would forget the unreasonable nagging and the hateful lying she seemed unable to control. But then she would get sick and nervous again.
"Listen, Greg," the Governor would say. "I know it's hard with your mom and dad, but a man can abide. It don't matter what others do to you. Why, it just don't matter at all because you can always come to me. The Governor's always here to help you."
And Greg would nod and be comforted because it was true. The Governor managed to abide all these years, and his wife, Greg's grandmother, was a Christian Scientist, to Greg a fanatic. He thought the old man was right, he could live in peace with someone he didn't respect as long as he just didn't show them how he felt. He only had to pretend to go along and do things his own way when he could. The Governor was always there to help, except that the Governor died in 1947.
They were in the big two-story wood frame house in Cadillac then. It had a large yard and there was a fish pond in back, room for dogs and cats and birds and fish, and even without the Governor things were bearable. Except that his mother started to get well.
At first it was a subtle change. Douglas, the youngest, was now well past the toddler stage and with Rusty teaching music, life was indeed much easier. Ethel Powell began fixing her face every day, paying attention to her hair, and her clothes and person. Then there were touches to the house here and there. Bright things, a preponderence of reds, lots of bright cloth-wrapped wires which only remotely resembled plants, and would later give way to a taste for plastic gimcracks. And then she, not Greg, started disciplining the younger ones: Sharon, Lei Lani, Douglas. Ethel Powell began to do the shopping, and assumed responsibility for paying the bills, and suddenly it was all too much for Greg, who was now fourteen. The fights started and were only bitter at first. Finally, outright warfare ensued. _ *
"Why should you listen to her?" Greg would say to tfie younger ones. "I always told you right, didn't I? I took whippings for you when you were bad and never opened my mouth, didn't I? I took care of you all your lives, didn't I? How come now you got to do what she says? You always did what I said, didn't you? It's not gonna change around here, you hear me?"
"But Mom says, Greg. Mom says"
And tearful battles were waged over the dinner table for many months to come.
"You're just gonna have to learn who's the boss around here, young man," Ethel Powell would warn. "You don't just run things around here no more."
"I don't, huh?" the boy would answer, his blue eyes sparking, his head turning on the swivel of a neck longer than his father's.
All of the children were blonds and rather fair, and the other three were better looking than Greg. They would remain silent during the flare-ups, not certain whose side to take, not certain whose authority was supreme.
"Now all of a sudden you start bossing the house, huh?" he said, tears of wrath spilling. "Well how come you wasn't bossing when Doug needed his drawers changed, or when the girls needed help with arithmetic, or when somebody had to get up an hour early every morning so's to get them all off to school? I wanted to be a crossing guard and couldn't because I had to get the kids off to school. You wasn't the one taking care of them. It was me. Me."
"You sound like you don't care that I'm well now. Like you wish I was still sick."
"I don't give a damn either way."
"That's
He didn't always hate his mother. Wh|h she was even partly well, she could manage to look incredibly young and alive. They would go for walks or even skate together and she could he incredibly young, as young as he, and totally enter his child's world. He was intensely proud of her during these times and wanted everyone to see her. He would forget the unreasonable nagging and the hateful lying she seemed unable to control. But then she would get sick and nervous again.
"Listen, Greg," the Governor would say. "I know it's hard with your mom and dad, but a man can abide. It don't matter what others do to you. Why, it just don't matter at all because you can always come to me. The Governor's always here to help you."
And Greg would nod and be comforted because it was true. The Governor managed to abide all these years, and his wife, Greg's grandmother, was a Christian Scientist, to Greg a fanatic. He thought the old man was right, he could live in peace with someone he didn't respect as long as he just didn't show them how he felt. He only had to pretend to go along and do things his own way when he could. The Governor was always there to help, except that the Governor died in 1947.
They were in the big two-story wood frame house in Cadillac then. It had a large yard and there was a fish pond in back, room for dogs and cats and birds and fish, and even without the Governor things were bearable. Except that his mother started to get well.
At first it was a subtle change. Douglas, the youngest, was now well past the toddler stage and with Rusty teaching music, life was indeed much easier. Ethel Powell began fixing her face every day, paying attention to her hair, and her clothes and person. Then there were touches to the house here and there. Bright things, a preponderence of reds, lots of bright cloth-wrapped wires which only remotely resembled plants, and would later give way to a taste for plastic gimcracks. And then she, not Greg, started disciplining the younger ones: Sharon, Lei Lani, Douglas. Ethel Powell began to do the shopping, and assumed responsibility for paying the bills, and suddenly it was all too much for Greg, who was now fourteen. The fights started and were only bitter at first. Finally, outright warfare ensued. _ *
"Why should you listen to her?" Greg would say to tfie younger ones. "I always told you right, didn't I? I took whippings for you when you were bad and never opened my mouth, didn't I? I took care of you all your lives, didn't I? How come now you got to do what she says? You always did what I said, didn't you? It's not gonna change around here, you hear me?"
"But Mom says, Greg. Mom says"
And tearful battles were waged over the dinner table for many months to come.
"You're just gonna have to learn who's the boss around here, young man," Ethel Powell would warn. "You don't just run things around here no more."
"I don't, huh?" the boy would answer, his blue eyes sparking, his head turning on the swivel of a neck longer than his father's.
All of the children were blonds and rather fair, and the other three were better looking than Greg. They would remain silent during the flare-ups, not certain whose side to take, not certain whose authority was supreme.
"Now all of a sudden you start bossing the house, huh?" he said, tears of wrath spilling. "Well how come you wasn't bossing when Doug needed his drawers changed, or when the girls needed help with arithmetic, or when somebody had to get up an hour early every morning so's to get them all off to school? I wanted to be a crossing guard and couldn't because I had to get the kids off to school. You wasn't the one taking care of them. It was me. Me."
"You sound like you don't care that I'm well now. Like you wish I was still sick."
"I don't give a damn either way."
"That's
Similar Books
