I'm trying to give a crap. All these tabloid covers say I should. But, my grandparents were immigrants from Russia. My grandmother on my mothers side had 12 children that included 2 sets of twins. My father's mother had 11 of her own. I'm surprised any uterus could withstand that much abuse without dragging behind you like a dead cat hanging on a leash. But my grandmas endured. And they marched on. But how?Because these people were tough as nails. They were from the Old Country. Grandchildren of immigrants know all about the Old Country. Right? And these guys didn't get their own TV show simply for having a bunch of kids. Maybe, because TV wasn't invented yet. Or maybe because if they did, it might have gone something like this:
Kid 1: I don't like deer meat.
Grandma: Your father killed it, dragged it 5 miles through the snowy woods and back here so you would have something to eat. He spent 6 hours gutting it and ripping the meat from the bone. He chopped its head off and hung it on the wall so we'd have a hat rack. Eat it or eat nothing.
Kid 1: But I don't...
Grandma: What you don't - is have appreciation. Go to your room without any supper. Anyone else?
Kid 2 through 11: No ma'am. Bambi's delicious. I'll take a hoof. We love it. Thank you Ma.
Grandma: I didn't think so.
And just like that, dinner conversation was over. Later, Grandma would cut her own hair with a paring knife and vacuum cleaner. And somehow, it still looked better than Kate's over-bleached, uber-chic "what the hell happened to the back of your head" $200 salon cut.
In the spring, you would find grandma in the garden, 7 months pregnant, growing an entire Albertson's produce section worth of fresh vegetables to can for an entire winter. She would dig, fertilize and pull weeds all the while banging the heads of garter snakes that got in her way against the nearest rock. One time she even beaned a rattler with a shovel, kicked the fanged-head in one direction and swung the body onto the compost heap. Let's see you do that Kate...or John for that matter.
Now, kids 1 -11 had their own list of do's and don'ts. The eldest (my mom) took care of the babies while both parents worked from sun up to sun down. That left kid 2 through 7, 8 or 9 depending on what year it was to do things like keep the house, keep the yard, and generally keep out of the way.
When Aunt Patty acted up (she would have been diagnosed as ADD today and put on Ritalin), Grandma's solution was simple; run around the house until you can't run anymore. So Aunt Pat would frequently be seen running around the house like the village simpleton until she fell over from exhaustion in the front flower bed. Complex psychiatric situation solved and without meds.
Now I wonder if all this crazy would make a good TV show? I'm thinking I would find it infinitely more entertaining than John and Kate. Certainly, more real. I know the neighbors did. But they had the good sense to come by with a tuna casserole and share their own versions of crazy behind closed doors over a glass of grandpa's homemade red wine. I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa would have had the good sense not to put this menagerie in the public eye. After all, while certain celebrities like Julia Roberts fight tooth and nail to keep their children out of the limelight, just what kind of parent's shove their kids right out in it for entertainment's sake?
The problem is, kids grow up. I can't imagine being submerged in the hideous blemish called junior high with teenage hormones raging in all directions, and trying and find my place in this world when all of my family's dirty laundry has become entertainment for 10 million people searching for a life of their own. And you thought you took it in the shorts for wearing an asymmetrical bob and parachute pants.
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