Family Secrets

by Zina Abbott

  “Grandpa Mike says we can visit other sides of the family any other holiday, but Thanksgiving belongs to him. It’s really important to him to spend it with as many of the family as possible. I just hope that since it’s his favorite holiday, he will be in a good mood and agree to talk to me.”

  “We will be pulling for you one hundred percent, Jennie,” assured Sandy. “We can hardly wait until next month when you tell us how things worked out.”

  “Yeah, and find out why he likes Thanksgiving so much while you’re at it,” said Kaylee.

  Jennie opened her mouth, but no sound came out as her breath caught in her throat. She had attended the meeting so she could learn how to conduct oral history interviews. In her mind, this was a one-time event. She did not plan to come to a second GOFT meeting.

  Chapter 12 – Mike

  By rights, I should have celebrated the last Thanksgiving Day of my life in Vietnam. That should have been my last time eating turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie and everything that goes with it.

  There were no football games to watch in Vietnam, and that is what I really missed about the holiday. I didn’t miss listening to Patty tying up the telephone with her friends and all her giggling and whispering and squeals that went with it. Sometimes, she talked so loud that her voice drowned out a referee’s call. No, I sure did not miss that.

  I definitely did not miss having to listen to Rodney brag about all the advantages made available to him by the grandparents we did not share. I hated being told to keep my “snide remarks,” as my mother called them, to myself in order to not upset her and spoil her holiday. Her former in-laws claimed most of Rodney’s time and attention since they lived back where he was stationed. The few days she saw him around Thanksgiving, Easter, and a week in the summer were sacred to her. We lesser children were not allowed to disrupt her joy by disputing his outrageous claims, or failing to praise his accomplishments, let alone ignore his bragging, or anything else that our mother might perceive to be our lack of enthusiasm over his condescending to grace us with his presence. For me to say that my half-brother and I didn’t get along would be an understatement.

  So, in my mind, Thanksgiving as a family celebration was out. And, although I liked the turkey dinner well enough—especially the pies afterward—without the football to watch, the holiday just was not that important to me the year I was in-country.

  That fall, our company was assigned to hill duty. We took our turns holding a perimeter on a hill formation several miles to the west of the compound. We had nineteen bunkers up there, each holding about four or five guys at a time. The men in the company alternated one week on hill duty and two or three weeks off in the compound.

  Thanksgiving week was my week to be in the compound. The COs had promised a big turkey dinner with all the trimmings to everyone who would be in the compound on Thanksgiving. It created quite an excitement, especially for some of the guys who had not been in-country all that long and who were still battling homesickness. But it was also understood that those who had hill duty would get the usual C-rations. No one was going to cater a big Thanksgiving dinner out to the bunkers.

  Prescott in Squad D was scheduled for hill duty the week of Thanksgiving. He just would not shut up about how unfair it was that he was going to miss out on the big Thanksgiving feast. He repeatedly described his past Thanksgiving dinners at home in detail, like they were a religious experience, or something. He went on about how they held hands around his grandparents’ table and said a prayer, and then his grandfather carved the turkey. He was having a real tough time not being home with his family. After awhile, each time he started one of his Thanksgiving stories, the guys shouted him down, or threw the first thing they could grab at him.

  Prescott was not the only one who found it hard to be away from home, but having to listen to Prescott whine about it made it worse for them. Even Sarge told him several times to shut up about it. But Prescott would not take the hint. The idea that he would be stuck on the hill living in a shelter cut from the side of the mountain and reinforced with sandbags, eating rations instead of turkey was more than he could stand.

  The way I looked at it, since I couldn’t enjoy what was really important to me about Thanksgiving, having the big turkey dinner was no big deal. So I finally offered to swap weeks with Prescott. Some of the guys thanked me or acted like I did a really great good deed, like I was a Boy Scout or something. I didn’t let on that I did it for selfish reasons. Sure, swapping with Prescott meant being out on perimeter guard duty that week. But, it also meant that after it was all over, I could stand down the following week and look forward to relative comfort in the compound for weeks to come.

  Thanksgiving week on hill duty was uneventful. To me, it was just like any other week. I did my best to not think about missing out on the turkey dinner. I was surprised that I actually missed my family a little that Thursday. Maybe it was because I knew that Rodney was here in Nam, too, albeit stationed on an aircraft carrier offshore. I would not have been required to tip-toe around him this year if I had been home. But, I kept my thoughts to myself. No one on hill duty that Thanksgiving wanted to talk about what they were missing out on this holiday.

  When the week was over, what we were really grateful for was that it had been a boring week. When Prescott showed up to relieve me, I made light of missing the turkey dinner while Prescott could not thank me enough. I just looked forward to standing-down.

  But that didn’t last. Five days after I got back to the compound we received orders to get our rucksacks and weapons together double-time. We were heading back up to the perimeter on the medevac copters to be inserted on the hill. Considering the number of us that were ordered to go, I figured something big had happened.

  Nothing prepared me for how bad it was on the hill. Charlie had come through in force and hit our position with everything they had. Our guys had fought them off, just barely, and were in sad shape. Those of us who came up from the compound had to help remove the injured and dead, clean up the mess, and rebuild. Then, many of us stayed to take over holding the perimeter until the next rotation.

  Anyone who was in Nam during that time knows about the Tet Offensive which took place a couple of months after that Thanksgiving. Tet hit us hard, just like it did everyone in-country that January of 1968. But, what we found when we got to the hill the week after Thanksgiving more than rivaled anything I later saw during Tet.

  We lost a lot of men that day. Blood and gore were everywhere. All the positions suffered damage, but the bunker I was assigned to and the two on either side were hit the hardest. From those three bunkers alone, fourteen out of fifteen men had been killed, Prescott among them.

  The only one from those three bunkers who was still alive was Timmons. He was shot up like a sieve. Forty-seven bullets from an AK-47 ripped right through him. When I saw him as they loaded him up on the medevac, he had lost so much blood that he was the palest man I had ever seen. That was the last I saw or heard of him. I couldn’t see how he could live through it.

  The irony of the situation was not lost upon me, or anyone else. Guys all over the compound who knew about me swapping with Prescott, came up to me and congratulated me on my good fortune. From some, it was just a nod and a, “Tough about Prescott, but you lucked out.” Others made a bigger deal of it. Instead of it making me feel better, I felt worse.

  I was the one who should have been dead. If it had not been for me trading with Prescott so he could eat his Thanksgiving turkey, it would have been me, not him, who went home that week in a body bag with my dog tag jammed between my two front teeth.

  For the longest time, the guilt nearly ate me alive. Thinking about it has kept me awake more than one night. For years afterward, I had to force myself to stop shaking whenever my thoughts drifted to what happened to Prescott. Still do, even though over time, it has gotten better.

  I never looked at Thanksgiving Day the same after that. Prescott bought it instead of me because enjoying the big turk
ey dinner was terribly important to him. I thought I was doing him a favor back then because I was too young and dumb to care about celebrating some American holiday while I was stuck halfway around the world in the middle of a hot, steamy jungle fighting a dirty, miserable war we were not allowed to win. Now, Prescott, like so many men who were lost over there, will never gather with their families and celebrate Thanksgiving again.

  Even Rodney never returned to be the center of attention in our family’s Thanksgiving Day celebration. Stationed on the carrier and soaring above the clouds, he was never a grunt on the ground like I was, having to daily or weekly face Charlie in hand-to-hand combat or with death only a sniper’s bullet or Tin Lizzie away. That did not save him. The Viet Cong managed to shoot his plane down. It took years to find out, but we eventually learned he was dead before he hit the ground.

  I can never take this holiday for granted again. I know I should not have seen another Thanksgiving after Vietnam. I was supposed to be in the compound for the turkey dinner and I was supposed to be in the bunker on the hill the day everyone there was killed. Instead, I made it home. I have a family and my life goes on.

  Now, I care.

  It is not the Pilgrims I think about on Thanksgiving Day. It’s the men who fought and died next to me in Vietnam.

  When I gather with my family on Thanksgiving Day, I think of all those men I became as close to as brothers over there. I miss them. I even miss my real brother.

  So, to those who never came back from Vietnam to celebrate Thanksgiving at home again, on every Thanksgiving Day I have left to me, I honor you in my heart for the sacrifice you made. It is not enough, but it is all I can do.

  Chapter 13 – Jennie

  As Christy wiped down the kitchen counter Jennie slung her book bag over her shoulder and started toward the back door.

  “What time will you be home from work tonight, Jen?”

  “No work tonight, Mom. I worked this afternoon, which is why I was late for dinner. I’m on my way to study group. Garrett is bathed and in the family room with Dad.”

  “Whoa! Before you go, I need to talk with you.”

  Jennie came to an abrupt halt and slowly turned to face her mother.

  Jennie had noticed that her mother had been unusually quiet during dinner. Something was bothering her. What was so urgent that it needed to be discussed right then instead of during dinner or a later time?

  “I have a bone to pick with you,” Christy said with a grimace.

  Jennie braced herself. She knew from years of experience that those words were code. They meant that Jennie had done something wrong and her mother was upset about it. Now Jennie was going to hear about it, and it would probably not be pretty.

  “I had a surprise this evening just as I arrived home from work,” Christy continued.

  Jennie jutted her head forward, looking at her mother expectantly.

  “I had a visitor waiting for me out in front of the house. In fact, she was sitting in her car ready to pounce on me as soon as I got out of my car.” Christy reached for a sheet of paper and held it before Jennie’s face. “I don’t suppose you know anything about this, do you?”

  Jennie could tell by glancing at the heading and the general format of the form that it was an application for Sweet Adelines. Helen Young had written her name and phone number across the top.

  “Oh, that. I think I forgot to mention to you that two of the women in GOFT…”

  “GOFT?”

  “Yes. You know, that Golden Oaks Family Ties group I went to the other night. The one Arnie Moore calls the goofy ladies? Anyway, two of the women are also members of Sweet Adelines. They wondered if you would be interested in joining.”

  “Why would they think I would want to join Sweet Adelines? I thought that thing you went to was a genealogy club.”

  “Not exactly. It’s about using different talents, including learning to find your family’s history, in order to strengthen family ties.”

  “So why would people from a family ties club want to know if I would like to join a chorus?”

  “Because there is a three-generation family who goes to GOFT. Well, at least the women go, and the one about my age, Kaylee, asked me to be sure to invite you and bring Garrett next time. I told them you were invited this last time, but family history is not your interest.”

  “That does not explain how things got around to Sweet Adelines.”

  “They asked me what you are interested in. One of the GOFT members who is a quilter said if you like to sew or quilt, you could go with her to some kind of a quilt deal or take classes at the college. But I said, no, you have a great voice and like to sing. Then Helen wanted to know if you sang maizo–misso…”

  “Mezzo-soprano. Yes, I sing mezzo-soprano. But why are you blabbing your mouth all about me to a bunch of strangers in a family-whatever club? I am not going to be too happy about you going there if that’s how it’s going to be.”

  At that moment Jennie felt like she could strangle Helen Young. She had warned Helen that she had to be tactful, or her mom would react exactly how her mom was reacting. After all, Jennie was her mother’s daughter and knew how her mom felt about other people discussing her behind her back. She felt the same way.

  Then again, Jennie realized, she had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who opened the door.

  “I know, Mom. I’m really sorry. Honestly, I didn’t tell everyone your life story or anything like that. It is just that when Kaylee was pressuring me to be sure to come again and invite you…”

  “Kaylee? The one who is your age?”

  “Yes, Helen’s daughter. Kaylee is the one who brings her two little girls to GOFT.”

  “Helen is the name of the woman who came here tonight,” Christy said, reading the name off the top of the application.

  “I know. What happened is, I put them off by saying that you keep busy with your job and family. But after what you told me the other night, I wanted to let them know how special you are because you have a great singing voice and that singing is your special interest. I guess I got carried away.”

  Christy looked at the floor.

  “It used to be my special interest,” she mused, “but I haven’t done much with it for years.”

  “Why, Mom? Why would you totally give up something that was so important to you?”

  Christy looked up, and stared over Jennie’s shoulder at a spot on the wall behind her.

  “Once your father and I became engaged, I was focused on us building our lives together. I knew that if we were going to be able to buy a house and start a family, I needed to work while I could. I stopped going to college.”

  “But you didn’t need to go to college to find opportunities to sing.”

  Christy looked her daughter in the eye.

  “There were other issues, too, some of which I already told you. I felt like I was dealing with a lot of things, and so much was still up in the air that I had to let a few things go. Singing was one of them.”

  “Weren’t there other opportunities for you to sing that would let you pursue your other priorities?”

  “Not really; at least, none that interested me at the time. Your Grandma Jan came from a religious background, but we rarely went to church much when I was a child. I didn’t have a church choir to sing in like some of my friends. Once I dropped out of college, I deliberately turned my back on music. It was the only way I could not harbor regrets about my choice.”

  “Did you miss singing?”

  “Oh, I sang. I sang to my babies. Once you were born, that kept me busy. After that, my focus was on trying to have another baby. I kept getting pregnant, but just about the time I got over the worst of my morning sickness, I lost the baby. We called it coping back then, but with the hormonal ups and downs, I was probably fighting depression a good deal of the time. I spent most of those years just coping. Perhaps my heart forgot how to sing for awhile.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mom. I know that must have
been really hard. I know I didn’t inherit your singing voice, but, quite frankly, I hope I didn’t inherit that other trait from you, either.”

  “Me, too, Jennie. But, I try to look on the bright side. In spite of those challenges, I had you and your father. Eventually, Jason came along. I’m happy with the family I have.”

  Christy set the application down on the end of the counter. Then she turned back and stared intently into Jennie’s face.

  “Don’t go yet. There’s something else.”

  Jennie waited in silence. She knew the issue of the invitation to join the women’s chorus was not yet resolved between them, but now there was something else? She was not catching any breaks this night.

  Finally Christy spoke again, and what she said caught Jennie completely off-guard.

  “Jennie, are you really going to let that baby go with Gerald for a week? Are you really going to trust your husband with him, considering everything? I do my best to stay out of how you raise your son, to not interfere, but I just cannot believe you could even consider it.”

  Jennie experienced an “Aha!” moment. This was what was really bothering her mother, not the invitation to join Sweet Adelines. The other was just the stressor that acted as a catalyst. Jennie guessed the situation with Gerald wanting Garrett by himself had been eating away at her mother for days.

  “Mom, he’s not exactly a baby. He’s three years old and in preschool.”

  “Under the circumstances, he’s still too young to be left alone with your husband.”

  Jennie felt her heart sink into her shoes and a dark cloud settle over her. She didn’t like the situation anymore than her mother did. She had shoved this dilemma aside and ignored it, telling herself she would figure it all out later. Now, her mother was forcing her to face it.

  “Mom, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. The last thing I want is to leave Garrett with his father, especially with the way Gerald has been acting.”