Pat Taub
In interviews to promote her new biography, Becoming, Michelle Obama lavishly praises the strong role models offered by her mother, grandmother and aunt. They seem perfect. When I reflect on the women in my family who came before me I have mixed feelings. My paternal grandmother had a shrill tongue; Aunt Anne was a heavy drinker; Aunt Kit could be demanding.
The more I thought about it the more I decided I shouldn’t be influenced by Obama’s experience to overlook what was positive in my relationships with my less than perfect female relatives. It’s a case of throwing out the baby with the bath water. Just because someone has her faults, doesn’t imply she is without redeeming qualities.
Grandma, my father’s mother was a piece of work. She was highly critical of my mother, slighting her with sarcasm.
When I look past this behavior I remember a family visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s home when I was twelve. Bored with the adult conversation I snuck upstairs to the den where I perused the bookshelf, captured by a collection of beautifully bound Agatha Christie books. I opened one up and was hooked. When I asked Grandma if I could take it home, she was delighted, describing how much she loved Agatha Christie. That launched a series of on-going talks where we shared favorite stories of Poirot, Christie’s famous eccentric detective. Grandma was instrumental in fostering my love of reading.
Grandma in her ’20’s–possibly her engagement photo.
Nana, my maternal grandmother, was a polar opposite of Grandma. Nana was fun, a showy dresser who loved costume jewelry sets, and martinis.
I have fond memories of Saturday lunches with Nana in Pomeroy’s Department Store in downtown Harrisburg, Pa. After we finished our chicken salad sandwiches we’d make a beeline for the jewelry department where we’d try on necklaces, earrings, pins and bracelets to the annoyance of the salesgirl. Rarely did Nana make a purchase. I like to think Nana’s boldness and joie de vivre rubbed off on me.
Nana at age 82 when corsages were still in fashion; great shoes!
Aunt Anne, my mother’s sister-in-law loved scotch, which she consumed in generous quantities most nights. Often she’d phone me when she was in her cups, talking freely about family skeletons. Sometimes I was shocked, but I was mostly amused, grateful for how this gossip enlarged my understanding of our family.
Aunt Anne was the lone Democrat in our Republican family. She freely took on my father’s more conservative views, modeling for me the importance of standing up for what you believe in.
Another fun-filled relative was Esther, my mother’s unmarried cousin who lived in Greenwich Village in a tiny apartment dwarfed by a baby grand piano.
On a visit to Esther’s when I was 17 she decided it was time for a trip to the Plaza for a cocktail even though I was underage. Dressed in a sophisticated sheath, heels, and wearing Esther’s bright red lipstick, I received a lot of male attention. Apparently Ether hadn’t anticipated her role as Pygmalion would be so successful. She escorted me out of the Plaza in short order, but gave me a taste of stretching boundaries for new experiences.
Second Cousin Esther in a photo taken for her acting portfolio
Great Aunt Kit, my father’s elderly aunt lived with her two single sisters in a turn-of-the century townhouse. When I entered their parlor furnished with massive Victorian pieces and heavy dark drapes, I felt like I had been transported to the 19th century. Letters written to Kit from my college dorm would often be returned with red-penciled corrections of my grammar. I dreaded these corrected letters; in retrospect I credit Aunt Kit for strengthening my use of grammar.
Kit in her ’30’s, possibly dressed for my parents wedding
I haven’t included my mother, Jane Conrad First, in this list because I’ve blogged about her before, but I’ll note here that her artistry, love of flowers, and all things beautiful along with her deep caring for the less fortunate made an indelible impression on me.
My mother, Jane Conrad First, celebrating her 80th birthday
