Though my grandfather lived across the street and I saw him almost daily, he rarely spoke directly to me beyond “hello!”  There was a present for us from him on our birthdays and holidays that we knew my mother selected, purchased and wrapped.  While I didn’t feel particularly close to him, I assumed that he loved me.  Because my paternal grandfather died when I was two and both my mother and father lost their own mothers when they were 9 months and 11 years old respectively, this grandfather was my only living grandparent. 

He was a man of few words who never wanted to interfere so he kept his thoughts to himself.  You can imagine the surprise and gratitude I felt when, at eighty-one, he agreed to let me interview him for my Senior High School assignment.

What a blessing this assignment was because I’m not sure I would have thought of doing something like this on my own.  The gift this gave me was not only an insight into my grandfather’s life, but what life was like in the early twentieth century. 

I came across that tape two summers ago.  I was so excited at the thought of listening to it again, but unfortunately, after locating a cassette tape player, I discovered that it was now blank.  I have no idea how that happened as I had treasured that tape long after my grandfather had passed.  All that remains is what is in my memory of that long-ago interview.

At the age of eleven, he had immigrated with his family from Canada to the U.S. seeking work.

He told me of his mother’s alarm the first time she saw a motorized car coming down the street.  “The world is coming to an end!” She cried out…in French, of course.  “There’s something coming down the street without a horse pulling it!”

While it’s humorous to think about now, I can imagine it was quite disconcerting for her to witness something she had no knowledge of or experience with.  The world appeared to be changing all too quickly to her.

What struck me the most of everything he told me was how entrenched people were in customs and rituals with no room for deviation.  As an example, he told me of the customs surrounding the death of a loved one, specifically, a spouse.  He had personal experience with this.  At the age of 30, he lost his wife to the curse of the day, tuberculosis.  She was only 29, leaving him with six children ten years old and under, the last two being my uncle and my mother at twenty-two months and nine months respectively.  Not only was he left with the gaping hole in his heart from the loss of his wife, he was now responsible for providing for and raising his very young family as well!  What a monumental task!  His heart was heavy as he prepared for the wake, funeral and burial of his beloved.

He told me that since funeral homes were not yet in existence, the wake was always held in the home of the deceased, usually in the living area.  The widower, however, was expected to remain alone in his bedroom to mourn the loss of his wife.  Though family and friends came to pay their respects and offer support, he could not come out of his room to see them.  Any mingling would be construed as “sans -coeur,” he said, “heart-less.”  So as lonely as he was and as much as he needed the salve of hugs and words of comfort from family and friends, he was required by custom to remain isolated.  Even for meals, a family member would bring him a plate of food to be eaten in his chamber.  It was a very lonely time indeed and now, at 81, he was glad this custom, that had felt so barbaric was no longer the practice.  As he recounted this to me more than fifty years later, I detected a hitch in his voice still.

I remember his house had two adjoining bedrooms.  At that time, it was expected that husband and wife were not to sleep together unless they were actively seeking pro-creation. There was no such thing as falling asleep in your beloved’s arms every night.

All of this has made me wonder how customs originate, how they’re perpetuated and how they eventually get dismantled.  Must we be doomed to continue doing something that seems so opposed to our authentic needs as human beings just because it is “custom” …something we must not deviate from that we’ve been conditioned to accept as “normal and acceptable?”

My grandfather’s experiences also gave me pause to review my own life, to examine where unnecessary, repressive adherence to customs and traditions might lie… such as never questioning authority, whether it be a boss, elder or doctor…or blind obedience to religious institutions without recognizing their shortcomings and limitations, accepting their black and white simplified version of our complex world.  These are just a few.

There is something to be said for customs and traditions.  There’s comfort in not having to wrestle with the life questions that most of us have.  Living within the confines of answers that were provided by others relieves us of having to make those decisions for ourselves.  However, there is much that needs to be considered and evaluated so we don’t indiscriminately hand over our power to those who came before us.    

There is such value in sharing our stories!  How many personal stories have gone to the grave, unsaid, unrecorded?!?  How many lessons have been lost?!?  Are we too busy to even ask the questions?!  I believe that unless we learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it.  I, for one, would rather evaluate and make thoughtful changes than follow customs and traditions that no longer serve us.

~Zanne
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