I am feeling like not writing a concise post. Parenthetical structure is over-rated, eh?
So, today Olathe Grandma inquired how much it cost to make copies on our home copier. I mentally fumbled around because the latent accountant in me could NOT resist the math. I finally said around half a penny which is probably an overstatement. THEN, she said “Oh, I pay 5 cents at Dillons!”. I could practically hear the wheels begin grinding into motion. So, I foresee some copying in my future because really, how can I refuse my grandma? I’ll just add this to the duties that always start with “You can get on the Internet, right?”
So, lately, I have been questioning my grandma on some of our family history - we have been in the Olathe area for a very long time and I was trying to establish who came when, where, and how. Let me note that while we have been here a long time, unfortunately, that means squat. You see, "longevity" doesn't always equal "distinguished" - my great-grandpa and his four brothers were known for being the "town drunks". While drunken moonshining is Cool History for the current generation, it's STILL Shameful Past for my grandma's. Anyway, I did find out something interesting (or at least to ME and since this blog is for me, by me and about me......) I should start by saying that Arun’s middle name was given to honor my oldest great-uncle who was like a grandfather to me. My great-uncle died nearly 6 years ago and I STILL get teary-eyed because I miss him. I just found out yesterday that my great-uncle was named after my great-great-great grandfather - this “3G” grandfather was born on the Blackbob Reservation that used to be near here (for those interested, it was where Heritage Park is now). And they had JUST moved from a reservation up north near Leavenworth. The current generation has always been curious about the whole Native American connection because it is shrouded in such secrecy. Several of the older relatives “way back when” used to vehemently deny the connection because it was shameful - keep in mind, this was the early 1900s NOT like now when it is hip and cool to be ethnic. Furthermore, I suspect many, many Americans have stories such as ours.
Anyway, this story has NO point whatsoever other than my getting a chuckle that my own little half-breed Indian was named after ANOTHER little half-breed from the mid 1800s. How fucking American is THAT?
A Desperate Housewife Stoops to Desperate Measures