Who are your people?

[PSUFAN]

My parents are about to turn 60. While I don't think that makes them particularly old, they are surely not still young. I've been ruminating about who they are, and where they've come from - and what that's supposed to mean for me and my young family, if anything.

My parents were both born in Niagara Falls, NY in 1947. They both attended Catholic schools growing up. The both were born into somewhat reduced circumstances.

My dad is tall and barrel-chested. He is bald as an egg, and over the years, he received so much sun damage that he ended up with some minor carcinomas. His skin is quite red, and on the occasion that he is undergoing a cancer treatment, sometimes his head is bright purple or red. His face has some English characteristics - large, long nose, square chin, a neck that has reclaimed much of the jaw. His eyes are arctic blue, they seem to burn into your head as he looks at you. When he dons a twill cap, it seems to belong there. When he had hair, it was thin and red-blonde.

His parents had him at a late age. His father was a man who had been sick for many years. He was involved with a union. At age 25, he had suffered a stroke, and he had lost the ability to work, other than clerical stuff for the union. Union folk used to stick together, though..and his buddies kept him in work over the years. So, my dad pretty much had to work his tail off as soon as he was physically large enough to do so, in order to help keep the family in food and shelter. He worked at jobs and brought money home the whole time he attended school. He was a good student, and he ended up getting money to go to school. He went out for track, and he threw shotput and discus at Buffalo State. He ended up a college professor, earning his Ph.D. at 25.

Growing up on the west side of NF, he lived in the same house his first 18 years. My grandparents had that house until 1990 - 4 rooms, an attic and a basement. It was 200 yards away from one of the most massive collections of chemical and industrial plants in North America. He grew up right near Hooker Chemical, notoriously toxic. Once at age 7 he was walking to school, and he collapsed amid the fumes of one of the plants. Thereafter, he suffered for years from asthmatic conditions that he attributes to these conditions.

While NF has been cleaned up quite a bit, I'll always remember what that area used to smell like. We'd approach from the south on a visit, and the stench of the chemical plants would begin around Grand Island. Often the sky would be lit up redly by the glowing embers of Buffalo Steel Mills. It was always a little eerie, coming to visit.

His mother had also worked for years. For a long time, she worked at the Nabisco Shredded Wheat factory not far from their house. The building is still there, within sight of the new Mohawk Casino. She too had been born in Niagara Falls, in 1910. Her mother died when she was a baby, I don't know why. Her father was a railroad man, who was rarely at home. He was crushed to death between two cars when she was 5 years old. She grew up in the care of her grandfather, who operated a hotel saloon in downtown NF. His name was John McKnight, and he had been born in Limerick, Ireland and had come to America in the 1870s. My dad has an old photo of him. His is every bit the turn of the century saloon keep - handlebar mustache, slicked parted hair, striped shirt. He died when she was a teen.

She had an older sister, who she then stayed with. Their mother had been from Germany. They knew very little else about her. She married and lived in the same house until 1990, when she moved to State College PA and stayed with my parents for the last 10 years of her life. In her latter days, she began telling us a lot more about her childhood, and what her life had been like. She was always very warm, quick to laugh...her life didn't seem to have had tremendous high points, but she loved her family, and she enjoyed her days. She loved the Buffalo Bills - her favorite Player had been Jack Kemp - and she loved Genesee Cream Ale, which as a result became my formative beer. She had always attended Catholic Church her whole life, although her mother had been a Lutheran. She was never overly religious, but folks went to church in those days.

She married a man who had recently moved up from Clearfield County, PA with his 6 brothers. His name was Kenneth, at that time he was hale and lively - the eldest brother, and very much the keeper of them all. They had left Mahaffey, PA, where they no longer had prospects at work. Mahaffey is a town that consists of a stretch of rail. The PA Railroad used to build company houses along the tracks in out of the way hollers, and offer these as housing for workers. In Clearfield County, there was very little farming. Coal seams were not accessible in the area until the advent of strip-mining in the 1940s. Central PA had been a source of iron for the nation's industry for 150 years. My grandfather's forbears had come to the area in the late 18th century, English, Scots-Irish and Scottish. Until southwestern PA's coke ovens got rolling in the 1860s, iron was smelted in charcoal ovens in PA's interior. My direct paternal forbear was one of the first blacksmiths operating in Clearfield County. After Iron's day was done, a lot of change came to the region.Rail work was what most men looked for - they would ride south an hour down to Altoona and sign on with gangs that would be at work all over the country for stretches.

I've been to Mahaffey - it's a town that seems to still be in the 19th century. Porches are stacked with old furniture, and most building are very old and in disrepair. There are probably 100 people who live in the town now. It is like quite a lot of Appalachia, from Tennessee to southern NY State - hilly, thickly greened, still peopled by hard-working, taciturn, earthy folks.

It seems like a good place to leave, it must have been for my Grandfather and his brothers. Factories were being built in Western NY, so up they went.

My mother had grown up with her two sisters close to downtown Niagara Falls. Her father had been born in NYC, to Irish immigrant parents from County Connacht. Connacht was largely peopled by folks who had traditionally been displaced from Ulster by Scots and English. They were mostly poor tenant farmers who held an abiding hatred for protestants and English landlords. My grandfather, Francis Gallagher, came from a large family that was steeped in these traditions. My mom and aunts can mimic with dead accuracy the bitter flat tones of their old aunts acidly cursing the damned English.

So, of course, as fate would have it, Francis Gallagher married...a Protestant girl from Ontario Canada, whose family had come from Belfast, Northern Ireland. This trick earned him and his young family the eternal scorn of his larger family. In the early 20th century urban "ethnic" environment, you were nothing without your extended family. You tried to avoid earning their enmity...most of what you did centered around it. His family despised his choice and while his wife attended Catholic Church and did her best to assume the culture of her husband's family, she was never accepted, and was often quiet and embittered until later in life.

Both of my Grandmothers were reluctant Catholics, but I knew nothing of this as a young kid. To me, they had always seemed to go to church happily, and my parents both were raised in the church, and went to schools taught by nuns and priests. I came to understand more of this as I was older, and as I was then fully immersed in my own reluctance to play nice as a Papist, I was excited to piece it together. My apostasy had familial precedence!

My mother loved her father dearly, he was roguish and always great with children. He was a bus driver for many years. He died of lung cancer at age 65. 65 was enough for my dad's father also, he had another stroke that killed him this time. Both of my grandmothers died in their late eighties, in comfortable, natural circumstances, surrounded by family.

My parents ended up providing a comfortable existence for me and my two sisters. We had it easy, whereas they had it much harder growing up. It is harder to understand the value of opportunity if you have been raised in relative comfort. My own children have never wanted for anything. My wife and I are earning a comfortable living now. It took me a long time to learn that I couldn't continue to waste everything that was offered me. I did eventually learn it, but only when I had made a clean break from everything that had kept me comfortable growing up.

I do often think about the lives that my family led, and I derive some small strength and wisdom from that consideration at times. I have much more distance from my family these days. My wife is extremely close to her family - for example, her sister bought the house right net door to ours - and she talks on the phone to her parents pretty much every day. I prefer to not be so much in the lives my parents are leading. However, I would prefer to remain close to my own kids - something of a quandary.

My kids will undoubtedly live their lives in Pittsburgh, at least through High School, probably through college. They are relatively close to their extended families. I'll explain to them my bickering, British Islander forbears, and my wife will tell them of their Oklahoma and Kansas Swede families on her side.

Well, assholes, did you just spring from the ground, or what?

[TenTallBen]

Your parents are better than you. The fact that you took the time to type all of that says that they should have disowned you somewhere around high school.

Get a life and try to raise the kids you have to not be such an internet loser like daddy is..........

[PSUFAN]

Ben,

are you just ignorant, or do you have another problem?

[420]

Your parents are better than you. The fact that you took the time to type all of that says that they should have disowned you somewhere around high school.

Get a life and try to raise the kids you have to not be such an internet loser like daddy is..........

Ouch!

and that blast came from TTB.

[Mister Bushice]

My dad is tall and barrel-chested.

and famous:

[TenTallBen]

My kids will undoubtedly live their lives in Pittsburgh

My condolences to them in advance.

[PSUFAN]

Kids,

I know you like Pittsburgh and all, but if you're real lucky, someday you'll move to rural Louisiana, where readin' writin' and cypherin' ain't hardly needs done, where bestiality is illegal ('less you're lookin' to get hitched) and where a man can french kiss a tree's innards without nary a look askance

[TenTallBen]

Kids,

I know you like this shit hole and all, but if you're real lucky, someday you'll figure out that daddy spends more time trying to prove that he is an internet stud and your future means little or nothing to me. JoPa rocks! Where are my clean undies?????

[Screw_Michigan]

lay off the fucking dope, man. i'm not reading all that.

[smackaholic]

Ben,

are you just ignorant, or do you have another problem?

ummmm, PSU, have you forgotten where you are? This is the smack forum on a smackboard. Post here and there's a real good chance someone just might smack you. This is especially true if geneology is the topic and some inbred cajun who is his own grandpa reads it.

[ucantdoitdoggieSTyle2]

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

[indyfrisco]

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

Fuggin' rack and I am punching my balls until I can think of that movie so a little help please. I want more children.

[indyfrisco]

Austin Powers I think? Punching commencing until I get confirmation. Off to IMDB. This is hurting.

[indyfrisco]

Ok, I can rest easy.

http://imdb.com/title/tt0118655/quotes

[Cicero]

Beat me to it Indy.

[ucantdoitdoggieSTyle2]

I am punching my balls until I can think of that movie.

You seem like a very dedicated poster. I admire that...

[Mikey]

It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child. I remember the days, sittin' on the porch with my family, singin' and dancin' down in Mississippi.

[Headhunter]

He is bald as an egg, and his head is bright purple or red.

Sinner!

[Cuda]

Your parents are better than you. The fact that you took the time to type all of that says that they should have disowned you somewhere around high school.

Get a life and try to raise the kids you have to not be such an internet loser like daddy is..........

BWAH! RACK TTB. 3/9 is on the way

Ben,

are you just ignorant, or do you have another problem?

This from the guy whose most epic response to the picture of him going Code Brown in his undies is to say "Don't you have anything new or original?"

Tell you what, PUS, when you finally get TTB's boot out of your ass, be a pal and make an attempt to wipe it off for him.

[Invictus]

It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child. I remember the days, sittin' on the porch with my family, singin' and dancin' down in Mississippi.

Jump down, turn around, pick a bale 'o cotton
Jump down, turn around, pick a bale a hay

'O Lordy (pick a bale 'o cotton)
'O Lordy (pick a bale a hay)

[The Whistle Is Screaming]

It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child. I remember the days, sittin' on the porch with my family, singin' and dancin' down in Mississippi.

Jump down, turn around, pick a bale 'o cotton
Jump down, turn around, pick a bale a hay

'O Lordy (pick a bale 'o cotton)
'O Lordy (pick a bale a hay)

Don't trust whitey
God loves a work'in man
If you catch it, see a Dr. and get rid of it.

[YD]

[Mikey]

Where'd you find my pic?



I took that down off photobucket so's nobody could wytch it.

[Shoalzie]

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

RACK!

PSU...don't say too much about your family, that shit comes around and gets you later.

[MgoBlue-LightSpecial]

BBQ, your turn.

Start with your wife, please.

[Dinsdale]

I'll never run "I fucked your mom" smack on Schotzie -- he'd just come back with "yeah, I loosened her up for you."

[MgoBlue-LightSpecial]

Bwahaha

[Mr T]

People!


Edited By HH to make the damn link work. Nice BBCode work, Mr T

[ucantdoitdoggieSTyle2]

People!

Huh?

[Shoalzie]

I'll never run "I fucked your mom" smack on Schotzie -- he'd just come back with "yeah, I loosened her up for you."

Thanks?

[smackaholic]

Only claim to geneological fame I got is I am probably about a 50th cousin to a certain californian congressman who may or may not have kilt the aid that he most certainly was shagging.

His biggest problem was having that dumb bitch get dead during a particularly dull news summer. Had she gotten herself dead a few months later (9-11), he would undoubtedly still be gainfully employed.

Some fukkin' way to have my last name which had been misspelled/mispronounced my whole life become famous....for awhile, anyway.

Wonder what cousin Gary is up to these days?

[RadioFan]

I have a relative in the Institute of Texan Cultures, on my paternal grandmother's side -- the first Norwegian to settle in Texas, around 1848. Dude's name was Questid or something.

But my paternal grandfather's family from Holland settled in Wisconsin, and my maternal grandfather's family from Ireland settled in Providence and later Wisconsin.

Go figure. All I know is that at some point, a couple of folks from Texas and Wisconsin hooked up. When I'm an old fuck and have nothing better to do, I may take up genealogy. Fascinating subject on a personal level, but it takes a lot of time and research.

[420]

When I'm an old fuck and have nothing better to do, I may take up genealogy..

Times a wastin'... 7/11 guy.