My Kin (Mostly true stories about growing up Southern)

By Lisa Giles

In the South, family ties are strong but often as tangled as the kudzu that grows wild along the highways.

This collection contains six humorous and charming southern tales. Each one shows a family at its best and worst, through the eyes of a girl learning what kin means when you grow up southern.

These stories are told with a helping of humor, a pinch of forgiveness and a dash of dismay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Giles
• Release date: Aug 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476197425

Lisa Giles

Passing down stories is tradition here in the south. I grew up in Alabama listening to these tales of my family. Often embellished, yet sometimes too true, these stories are everything I love about the south. I decided it was time to pass them along. I still live in Alabama with my husband and children, where I write, teach, and wait for football season to begin each year. Most of us never leave the south, and the ones that do seem to eventually find their way back.

Book preview

My Kin

(Mostly true stories about growing up Southern)

By

Lisa Giles

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Lisa Giles on Smashwords

My Kin

Copyright © 2012 by Lisa Giles

*****

Big wheels keep on turnin’

carrying me home to see my kin

singing songs about the southland

I miss ole Bamy once again

and I think its a sin, yes.

—Ed King, Gary Rossington, Ronnie Van Zant

Aunt Nell

When his attempt at farming failed miserably, my Uncle Douglas had to acknowledge that he wasn’t made of the same stuff as his father. He ended up losing the house and land, along with all the animals, and had to move his wife, Nell, and his two sons, Ronnie and Wayne, back into town. They lived in a small rental house. For most people in this situation, it would have been depressing. But Uncle Douglas seemed content to have a postage stamp sized yard to cut, and more free time to sit in his fake La-Z-Boy while he watched TV. He was sitting there every time we came to visit, laid back, his hands resting across his round belly and socked feet propped up high. Doug smiled a lot and always had some funny story to tell. He was my grandma’s little brother, and she thought he was the smartest man in the world. In truth, he wasn’t too bright. His life tended to be one failed attempt after another at this or that. But he was a kind man and loved my grandmother. They had long been the only family for each other, and their relationship was strong and close.

My Aunt Nell was tickled to death to be off that dusty farm and extremely happy with her new covered patio. She liked to sit out there and drink her coffee. When friends stopped by, she invited them out there, as if she lived on the French Riviera and they were stepping onto the veranda. She told me at least five times in one visit how nice it was to sit under and listen to the rain pattering on the metal roof.

Not long after the move, Ronnie graduated from the junior college and got married. Wayne had just graduated high school. He just hasn’t settled on a career yet, Grandma would say. He seemed to come and go as he pleased, usually appearing briefly around dinnertime, then slinking off to what was likely no good. Uncle Douglas had taken a job at the Van Heusen shirt factory and my Aunt Nell worked part-time at a dry cleaners. Overall, their family seemed pretty settled and well-adjusted to life’s changes.

The shirt factory literally employs half the town. I’ve often wondered which came first – the town or the factory. Uncle Douglas was one of the many assembly line workers employed at the plant. His job was to put the folded shirts into clear cellophane bags. One after another, he stuffed shirts all day long. Pinstripes, chambray, muslin, cotton, oxford…stuff the bag, smooth it, seal the top. This mundane, predictable work could drive a man crazy. And I believe that may be what happened to my uncle.

One Thursday afternoon, I was just coming in the door from work and heard my phone ringing. I dropped my purse on the sofa and grabbed the receiver. It was my grandmother and her voice was panicked when she said my name. My heart lurched because I was afraid something had happened to my grandfather. Then she said, Douglas has done run off. I shook my head, trying to make sense of that. Douglas was a grown man. Grown men don’t run off like angst-filled teenagers. I was trying to get the story, but Grandma, not a good communicator on normal days, was babbling and stringing incoherent words together. I finally calmed her down as best I could