The Big Shoes

My parents and I went to see my aunt today, partly to visit and partly to help take care of her.

We talked while I was feeding her and halfway through I started taping our conversation. It was exhausting, since she was woozy from the drugs and I had to lead the discussion.

I was instructed to write the book at all costs. And since she already told a bunch of people to help me publish and advertize it, there really is no way out. I am doing this for her, more than for me now, and it's harder than I imagined.

At first, I thought i'd just drop in with my tape recorder and she'd spill out the whole story.

But after the radiation treatments and with her cranky and hurting...it's hard to just sit down and ask for an interview. I tried today, but she really wasn't up to talking about it. She was so tired that she wasn't in the mood.

Which means, I have to reconstruct the story from other sources, then come back to her to verify the facts.

My perspective in the beginning was find out the whole thing as I went along, with no preparation. I thought it better to hear everything straight from the horses mouth and not be polluted by much research. I haven't gone to the library or online for research. I have no clue as to the intensity of what went on during that time period, nor why it was such an import.

To me, it was the secret that everyone knew about. It seemed like we--the nieces and nephews--were the last ones to learn about it.

Now, it seems like I will be doing more research than I thought, and will probably incorporate my experience in the book.

We haven't discussed format, but my aunt--though in pain--is already rambling on how she wants it written. She drums it me like a lyric, and I follow it like a song.

It was an exhausting afternoon.

After her meal, I went down to the kitchen to fix myself a snack. My dad was watching Star Sports while my uncle was reading a book about saints at the dining table.

It was...surreal. All of us were there. Our family rarely gets together except during the holidays, but we're all pulling together for my aunt.

I settled in on the dining room table with my uncle, eating and reading a philosophy text that I saw on the coffee table, looking up once in a while to look into the game my dad was watching.

My uncle is one of those people who can answer everything in Jeopardy. He reads anything and everything. He's also exremely reserved, very quiet, and just keeps to himself most of the time.

The two of us get along really well, maybe because we both love to read, love photography, and I always asked him questions. And these questions turn into discussions, and I never once was afraid to tell him "I don't know".

One of the first things that you will learn in my family are the words "I don't know."

We'd be at the table during holidays and everyone would be at their own game of "21". Facts were thrown and asked, names were dropped, and financial woes were exchanged.

The kiddie table was not as knowledgeable but just as intense. Since our parents distinguished themselves among their friends, the expectation for us to do the same was awfully high.

At 12, you begin to feel the pressure; at 16 you start buckling from it. At 21, you turn to a panic when you realize that you are not up to standard.