tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post4052519200087007611..comments2024-01-24T01:27:11.111-05:00Comments on Café Muscato: Rachel, Rachel: Black Like SheMuscatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04657061324487851341noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-67541162337510429562015-06-17T20:24:47.045-04:002015-06-17T20:24:47.045-04:00When I was in college I had a casual-friend I occa...When I was in college I had a casual-friend I occasionally spent time with, sometimes in study group and sometimes socially. A couple of years after I moved north, I ran into her at a party and was surprised to be told, rather loudly, that she was unable to talk to anyone who hadn't been to Europe at least twice. She, of course, had been to Vienna and unfortunately picked up the MittelEuropaische "ne ne", but with an unmistakable MiddleAmerikanische accent that made her sound like an obnoxious equine. First lessons in self awareness.Petenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-67707822813040570332015-06-17T19:38:45.845-04:002015-06-17T19:38:45.845-04:00That is really something; it's a testament to ...That is really something; it's a testament to your largeness of spirit that you've continued on with him unfazed. I doubt I could resist at least a "what were you <i>thinking</i>?<br /><br />Once or twice, in telling a family story, I've gotten a quizzical look in return; back when it was still possible, I would then do my best to ensure that that person had a chance to meet, say, my Mother, and show them, in the immortal words of Miss Anna Russell, "I'm not making this up, you know!"Muscatohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04657061324487851341noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-17055908340513650442015-06-17T14:30:21.546-04:002015-06-17T14:30:21.546-04:00I have a very dear friend who, when we first met, ...I have a very dear friend who, when we first met, began spinning a tale of family. There was a young mother, a deceased much older father, a twin brother who had died (kidney related, I believe), and 4 or 5 older sisters (all doctors and lawyers). I believe there was also a much older half-brother who was a priest in Ireland. I knew all their names and personalities way back 25 years ago. <br /> <br />There were nieces and nephews, an Italian brother-in-law, Irish relations, a grand family home that the older siblings had once accidentally set fire to. And on and on and on. For years. Tidbits of his life dropped into casual conversation over many years of hanging out at our local bar of ill repute. <br /> <br />There were some jaw dropping stories told with utter sincerity and me with no reason to doubt them. There were hilarious, convoluted stories. But all had the same cast. There was logic and consistency. <br /> <br />If it was not quite Dickensian, it was approaching something by John Irving. We used to joke, back when they were all so real, that it would make a great miniseries. <br /> <br />And one day I wanted to send him a card and looked up his address (in the phone book, long before the interwebs). I found the family name and mailed it off. He mentioned receiving it and told me that I had sent it to his uncle's house. He didn't offer his address. I got curious and drove past the address some days later. I saw his car parked in front of a modest garden apartment building. I let it be. <br /> <br />Some time later, he bought a house. A few of us went over to help him paint. And there was a man there with a very familiar face. We were not introduced. One of our group finally asked if that was his father. It was! The much older and very deceased Irish father was suddenly many years younger and quite alive. And just like that we knew that years of family history had all been a tall tale of the highest order.<br /> <br />There was never an explanation or apology. We soon met his perfectly lovely and ordinary mother, his lone sibling, and were introduced to the father. We met the actual grandparents, a few aunts, uncles and cousins. There were all as normal and certain as our own suburban NJ relatives. Lovely people but without a certain madcap flair which the storied family possessed.<br /> <br />A few friends were outraged. I chalked it all up to insecurity. He was just 21 when we met. Perhaps he was trying a bit too hard to impress. I imagine he started down a road trying to be entertaining one night at a bar, not thinking that a friendship would blossom. I figure he talked himself to a point of no return so he ran with it over time.<br /> <br />We're friends for 30 years now. The family of lore has been gone for about 25 years. The real family has been, well, real. The father has actually passed. Mom has moved in with my friend. We've said goodbye to all the grandparents. The sister has married. There is finally an actual nephew who is adored.<br /> <br />Numerous friends have thought over the years that he should be confronted about the tales. They would suggest I was the guy to do it since we were closest. And I always said there was nothing to be gained but embarrassing him. It would be cruel. Whatever he felt was lacking or not enough with his family, was in the past. <br /> <br />Goodness knows we all embellish for the sake of a story. I might have polished this one a bit here and there. His just took on a life of its own. I miss some of them. I had a real fondness for the twin nieces by the Italian ne'er do well brother-in-law. Lucia and Francesca. I sometimes wonder how they would've turned out if they'd actually existed.<br />Billhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01851297819829806798noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-16331306974344759012015-06-17T10:02:54.103-04:002015-06-17T10:02:54.103-04:00I'm with you. It's something about Mississ...I'm with you. It's something about Mississippi, Louisiana, etc. where white people associate more closely with black culture. This is another level of that peculiar malady. A strong conviction of the, "I must be adopted because I'm actually black." In my own case I was convinced that I had to be the child of a Hollywood star... ayeM8yhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07258615853099164514noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-81931676836199643002015-06-17T02:56:27.013-04:002015-06-17T02:56:27.013-04:00It gives the tabloids something to write about apa...It gives the tabloids something to write about apart from ISIS and Game of Thrones, I guess. I'm just waiting for the expose that Jeb Bush is really an alien. JxJonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15501010362663971583noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-68239941384554167212015-06-16T22:33:07.151-04:002015-06-16T22:33:07.151-04:00Sarah Jane!!!Sarah Jane!!!Peter Lappinhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05109154527996679077noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7218985326921858943.post-70079697027163555112015-06-16T21:15:06.899-04:002015-06-16T21:15:06.899-04:00I've been fascinated by her too. She's a ...I've been fascinated by her too. She's a mess, but I can't find myself to hurl too many stones.<br /><br />Lord knows, I was once convinced I'd been born of royalty and somehow left off in the southern suburbs by cruel fate. But then I grew up.<br />Ok, maybe I didn't.jasonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11116663308431251286noreply@blogger.com