Above: Is it just me, or is there something weird going on in this picture?
Y
ES, I’M A STORYTELLER. I can’t help but make things up. I’ve been told I may even have a tendency to look at a family snapshot such as this and try to extract more meaning than is actually there. I can read too much into things. Fabricate perhaps.
So, to make sure I’m not reading too much into this one, allow me to describe the situation and allow you to draw your own conclusions.
It’s the summer of 1962. It’s hot. Fourteen people on my mother’s side of the family elect to gather in Canton, Ohio, at the tiny starter home of her youngest sister, supposedly to celebrate my cousin’s birthday. I guess we’re doing this outside in the heat because it’s even hotter inside.
One snapshot shows all seven of us kids in my Uncle Paul’s kiddy pool. As you can see, there’s not enough room to splash and play. But we’re not in that pool to splash and play. We’re there to avoid heat stroke. My sister, at left, appears especially uncomfortable. Perhaps at thirteen years old she’s picking up a vibe from the adults that we younger ones may be unaware of. I will only note that, given the gregarious nature of my family, I can’t look at the photo at the top without seeing tension in the air, as if every adult is sitting there, deep in thought, trying to figure out why in the hell we’re in Canton, in the middle of summer, sitting outside.
One person I’m convinced could be that curious is my mob-connected stepfather, shown here posing cool and calm. But at far left in the photo at top, he’s sitting beside my mother, looking pensive. Does he, too, suspect something? What he absolutely doesn’t know is that within weeks, my mother will leave him, along with family, friends, and possessions, and run away to Texas with my father, my sister, and me.
One clue to solving this mystery may be the curious absence of my mother’s only brother. When she and I were finally reunited eleven years later, she told me there had long been a rift in their relationship. His daughter would later explain that at one point my uncle had criticized my mother for not making the family a priority in her life.
Still, how could she not say goodbye? Could it be that, as she made ready her escape, she realized she would have to risk sharing the secret with him? Did she believe he might blow up in front of everyone, including my stepfather, if he realized she was about to leave them all behind?
Who else might know, and who, like my stepfather is in the dark? And why else would we be gathered here in Canton, in the middle of summer, if not to say goodbye.
You decide.
