My grandmother was in another room , with her sisters. My Aunt B pulled me aside and in her soft French accented voice, and told me a story.
A story of a young girl, she worked as a clerk at a local store. This girl was full of life and quite charmed with the social end. She embraced life and wanted more than this small rural town. She had met a boy, a clerk at the local grocery store. They had known each other for most of their lives. He was handsome, steel blue eyes, and a rugged build. Yet this girl was not just enthralled with settling down,there was too much to see, so much to live. They had dated for quite some time. Even though her parents were not aware of the intentions of the boy.
Their affair escalated and she had become pregnant in 1930. Her parents forbade her from marrying the man(for reasons that have never been answered. I can assume, societal class or more likely religion) and when the child was born, he was raised my his grandparents. This was so much a secret, this child is listed as one of their 15 children.(I have these records in hand)
The illusion his Aunts were his sisters, his Uncles were his brothers.

I sat a bit confused. Looking over my shoulder at my Uncle R, who could've passed for my father's twin. My eyes darted to my Father, and he so resembled the man...
Oh!
The realization slammed into me, the man, I had known as Grampy was not my Grampy?
And yet he was.

Questions blurted out and my Aunt kindly answered them all. Much to the chagrin of my mother and my other Aunts. Some things, in their minds, should just be left alone.
The rest of the evening I sat and pondered, this story I had been told.
What is my last name?(I know this now)
Why didnt he fight for her?
Why didnt he fight for him?
Wait...he? Who was 'HE'?

What did he look like? was he married? Are there more aunts and uncles, I mean whats a few more.
I so, so so sooooo, wanted to ask my grandmother all these questions and more.
To this day, I wish I had before she passed.
My father spoke of "him", and I have more details. But what of her the woman? Was she cold about it? Her heart, did it break her heart? Did his?
Was she happy all these years?

Did she love "him"?

Or was it just a teenage fling? A mistake?
Where is he now? What, when and why?

The next day Aunt B, approached me, asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. She knew I was burning inside. We drove out to her house, in North Caribou, we sat in her beautiful lodge looking living room. We chatted. For hours. Some of the questions she answered. Some she could not, and cautioned me about mentioning to Grammy.
His name was Frank. Frank Chamberlain(Chamberland). He was a handsome man. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Crystal blue. ( I often wondered where the blond came from, as my brothers were brown).
He wanted to marry my grandmother, but he was not to liking of her parents. That was a popular notion back in those days. Still holding on to old school ways. They forbade him to come around. Threatening him as well.
My Grandmother married three years later and had a son a year later.
Yet my father did not go to live with them.
My heart broke for my father.
She went on, Frank would go to every single basketball game of my father's. He would mingle in the crowd. Yet if one of my father's uncles saw him, they would chase him away.
My father went on to be Maine All State Basketball player. The sport was his passion. He worked at the local A&P. One of his Aunts worked there as well, Aunt A as a matter of fact. One day as she was ringing out a customer and my father was bagging(the right way), she looked over his shoulder, to see Frank, just standing there. Watching his boy.
My father never knew him. Never knew of him.
Not until after he had married and moved away. He never asked. It just was and he didnt want to venture where he should not. He held on to that deep respect. Although it ate at him until the day that he died.
Frank.
My grandfather.
From the day Aunt B., gave me 'some' information , there has not been a day I havent thought about him.
I havent had a moment to wonder of this man.
Who's blood courses through my veins.
Right here. And I havent a clue who he is.

From the age of twelve, there were moments it all made sense, and then moments nothing, nothing held any coherency.
The 500 miles back home riddled on.

The quest had begun...


Part four is coming....

Labels: #amwriting, A Chapter in my Father's life, A Chapter in My Life, Balance, Boxes, Emotional Mason, Essay, Meme is French for my Grammy, Woman, Words