52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks
Week 50
Prompt – Naughty
I think it safe to say that we have all
been naughty at one time or another in our life. Therefor I presume
that even in my straight laced Mennonite or German ancestor's life
there would have been naughtiness. Somehow those stories never seem
to be handed down. Well maybe if they are criminal, they are passed
along in secretive circles of folk lore.
Several times over the year, I have
mentioned my maternal grandfather (Pat Sullivan) who is somewhat of
a mystery to our family. He was certainly naughty and according to
the law it was criminal enough to send him to jail. The family folk
lore thinks it was for bigamy but that has not been proven yet. And
just lately, in light of my DNA results, I doubt that he was really Irish.
There is a naughtiness that comes from
ingenuity and a determination to do something other than that
you are commanded to do. There is a story from both Bill and my
side of the family. The sons of farmers were always counted on to
work the field and Saturday was not an exception. The men would
really want to go to the local Saturday night dance but the work was
going to take them into the evening hours. I guess they would
somehow tamper with the machinery to cause it to break down on a late
Saturday afternoon. It would be too late to get parts to fix it.
They would have to wait until Monday morning. A convenient plan to
allow them to attend the social event without outwardly sneaking off
when there was work to do. Bill's family farmed in Killaly, Sask.
And my father's family farmed in the Hague, Osler area. Was this a
plan that was used by all farmer's sons? Did the father's really
know what was going on?
In 2006 we had a chance to visit our
aunt & uncle in their winter home in Arizona. Wallace McLaughlin
is my grandma McLaughlin's third child, a sibling to my mother. Uncle
Wally as we called him was born in 1927 and died just 3 years after
the visit. They lived in Ontario and growing up we rarely saw them.
My older siblings know him better than myself. Uncle Wally was an
Engineer who at one time was the Dean of Engineering at Waterloo
University and in fact was president of The Deans of Canada
Engineers. At the time of the visit, I was just starting to put
family history together. We asked him of any stories he had of mom
when they were young.
He unfortunately could not remember many. We
did learn that he was a bit mischievous growing up. He said his step
father, Benjamin McLaughlin was strict and liked things just so, such
as no talking at the dinner table. If you broke the rules you were
punished by his “razor strap”. Uncle Wally knew if he got in
trouble at school and in his words was “caned” at school he would
get it twice as bad at home. So on his way home he would find a few
layers of cardboard to put in his back so it lessened the severity.
 |
| Vivian and Wallace in 1933 |
Apparently his mother (grandma
McLaughlin) use to own a 32 caliber Browning Automatic gun. What the
heck was she doing with it - I will never understand. Grandma was
quite deaf. Uncle Wally would go down into their cellar, find it and
for the heck of it shoot it at the wood pile. He went on to explain
that on one of grandma's visit to their home in Ontario, she decided
it was “too dangerous” to have around her home. So she put it in
her handbag and all of its ammunition. She flew with it in her purse
as carry on without incidence. Uncle Wally and aunt Phyllis were
flabbergasted that she took it on the plane but even worse was that
the gun was loaded. OMG.
It was during this visit that I first
heard of the term “rubber ice”. They grew up in Saskatoon where
the Saskatchewan river runs through it. As boys they would love to
go down to the river in spring thaw and play on the ice because it
would bend and roll underfoot. They would see who could get further
across. Boys will be boys but shooting guns and playing on dangerous
river ice is the type of naughtiness that runs parents blood ice
cold.
My naughty story comes from being a
naive 17 year old girl driving dad's car around in Saskatoon on a
boring Sunday afternoon. I can't remember which car it was but either
the Caprice or Impala Chevy model, none the less one of those huge
over powered beasts of a car that one had in the early 1970's. I
remember it clearly as if it happened last week. I was sitting at
the top of the Broadway bridge waiting for the red light to turn
green when my friend, Bryce pulled up beside me and started to roar
his engine. Like one would do to start a race when the light turned
green. Well I did not know how to make the engine roar but I did
what I thought was the procedure and that was put the car in park and
step on the gas roaring the heck out of that behemoth of an engine.
The light turned green and Bryce took off and I pulled the car from
park to drive in one quick swoop all while revving the be-Jesus out of the engine. The
car made an almighty frightening noise and stopped dead. There I was at the top
of the bridge feeling very alone and pathetically scared. I had a sense that I broke dad's
car and remember we had no cell phones etc. Some how I phoned dad and told
him the car broke down and somehow he showed up to assess the damage.
The tow truck took the car to the service station where it cost my
dad an arm and a leg to replace the engine or parts of it. To say I felt awful would be an understatement, but I never told dad what really happened. And as far
as I am concerned he went to his grave not knowing. Or at least I
think so. He never ever mentioned it again if he did. I know that
they had no money to fix cars, but the car was necessary for him in
order to get to work. It's a sad but a true naughty story.
Being naughty comes in different
packages. Some need to push the limits to criminality,
some of us come up with ingenuous plans, some just need to be boys and live
despite the dangers and some of us are naive 17 year olds trying to
show off and too embarrassed to confess.
Wendy
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