last night i went with my parents to a dinner celebrating my eldest aunt's 61st birthday. there were only three (of nine) siblings at the restaurant last night with their spouses and me, the resident child.
the siblings, now in their late fifties and early sixties, all at once began sharing their memories of the house they lived in growing up. my dad remembers a one mile walk to his elementary school from that house and back every day. the older sisters remember the walk home from their high school.
"remember that man that you used to see?," says one sister to another. he was a ghost. one time she saw him laying down next to her. "you saw him, too!" the eldest says to my dad. he shakes his head, not remembering.
then they had the priest come and bless the house. with holy water in each of the rooms. do priests do that any more?
i ask, "did you ever see the man after the priest blessed the house?"
"no," she shakes her head, barely remembering. i only saw him once.
the neighbors. there was that one lady who didn't like mexicans. do you remember she said, "you're not spanish. you're mexican!" and then there was that other lady who was just the opposite. wasn't she married to a black man?
"where is this house?" i ask, confused. it didn't sound like the house where we had all of our family gatherings growing up - my grandparents' house.
they explain. it's gone now. do you know where that big pepsi plant is? off union street. there used to be houses there. old houses. pepsi owns all of that property now.
but my family. they own the memory.
@>-->>---
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