Small But Mighty

In those days, Auntie all of four feet something, with fly away short white hair, a round face and a “no teeth” smile gained everyone’s attention when she spoke.  I think we were all a little afraid of her and we found ourselves doing things we otherwise wouldn’t do. The problem was she was out of step with what was cool and sometimes what she did was not within the social norm.

Each Sunday after church, we would make the twenty-mile trip from Biddeford to Portland to visit Auntie and her husband Gene.   My brother would show up to her house with his pants hiked up to his armpits. You ask why? That is the way auntie liked it.

 On her adventures (of which there are many), she would order one clam cake to split among herself, my uncle, and my three siblings, then using the establishment’s inside picnic table she would unpack an elaborate picnic with fried chicken, garden cucumbers, tomatoes, and biscuits to dine with a view.  My older siblings, nearly adults were so mortified, so that they would find a used Styrofoam cup (often filled with cigarette butts) to give the illusion that they were paying customers.  In my aunt’s mind they were paying customers because of one clam cake. 

 When I was five years old, I remember her ranting at my mother for dying my hair. Auntie was adamant and despite my mother trying to convince her otherwise, my aunt thought my mother regularly colored my hair, when in fact the sun had done all the work. 

Seldom did Auntie sit still and watch television. On occasion, when they thought that Auntie was safely engaged in a puzzle, a game of cards or tea with my mother, my uncle and my brother would sit in the front room and enjoy watching a show or movie.  Unexpectedly, but not surprising Auntie would confidently walk into the television room, change the channel and facing my brother and uncle announce, “I don’t like that show.” Then she would walk out of the room to rejoin my mother.

Since I was young, I desperately wanted to learn French, Auntie’s native language.  She had never allowed French to be learned because she reserved it as a “secret” language between she and my mother. Auntie has been gone for more than forty years, and I still do not know French.