Pass the Gravy, Please

“Back in the day, my parents were always warning about calamities and tragedies waiting to happen if I didn’t look both ways when I crossed the street; if they weren’t vigilant and we had fish for supper there was a good chance I’d choke on a bone.  If I went outside without mittens (frostbite, for sure), or got in a boat without a life preserver, or developed a cough, certainly my demise was near.”—Kathryn E. Livingston

Words & Wonder

By Kathryn E. Livingston

BOGOTA New Jersey—(Hubris)—April 2024—Back in the day, my parents were always warning about calamities and tragedies waiting to happen if I didn’t look both ways when I crossed the street; if they weren’t vigilant and we had fish for supper there was a good chance I’d choke on a bone.  If I went outside without mittens (frostbite, for sure), or got in a boat without a life preserver, or developed a cough, certainly my demise was near. I ended up mocking them (not to their faces, at least not until my teen years) as they’d screech, “Be careful!” every time our screen door slammed behind me. Laughing about their fear was one way of dealing with it. But it didn’t explain their anxiety, and I never really made much of an effort to understand it, that is, until this morning.

I woke up today thinking about my Uncle Ray, who had been a bombardier in the Army Air Forces during World War Two. As a child, I knew nothing of his dramatic past; he was simply my dear uncle, an easygoing man with a hearty laugh, who always treated me kindly. My mother adored her charismatic and beloved younger sibling (whom she called, simply, “Brother”) and my grandmother always glowed when he entered a room.

With all that is going on in the world, with the uncertainty, and violence, and horror, I suppose it’s not surprising that my subconscious dredged up a time in my family’s life before I was born that I’d never really addressed, a time in the 1940s when my uncle was missing in action. Later, the Red Cross reported he’d been captured by the Germans, and for weeks my grandparents and my mom were filled with fear. Fortunately (and ironically now), he was eventually rescued from prison by the Russians, and spent some weeks wandering around Europe until he could find his way home to his tiny town in upstate New York. He married soon after and became the proud and devoted father of three children. “After the war,” my uncle often repeated, “everything else was gravy.”

This backstory—disturbing, but with a happy ending—may very well have significantly contributed to my mom’s pervading sense of worry, and I can only imagine the anguish of the months when my uncle was imprisoned. Examining my mother’s fear in a new light, I began to put the pieces together. “Be careful!” was not an “offhand” maternal warning: it was spoken from the knowledge not only of what could happen, but from the experience of what had actually transpired.

That pain of loss, of potential loss and the fear associated with it, is handed down through generations. For the survivors of war, a near-miss with tragedy may also provide the gift of gratitude. Thus, the odd combination of fear and devotion that courses through my—and so many others’—family ties. My uncle’s life was imbued with the miracle of his survival, as has been our family’s, in large, small, and unexpected ways.

My loving but fear-based upbringing gave rise to an unfortunate theory I’ve long held of life as an iceberg: we’re all standing on a slab of ice in a churning ocean, and at any moment a portion can crack off, taking a family member with it. (Hemingway had an Iceberg Theory as well, which had to do with writing!). A warm and caring mother—admired by all who knew her—my mom was also a fearful role model. Unintentionally, she bequeathed much of her fear to me, and I’ve long struggled against passing it onto my children.

It’s difficult to build trust and stay positive in precarious times such as ours, and I don’t really know if it helps to keep in mind that our ancestors faced similar (and sometimes even more grueling) challenges. I’d like to believe that along with the fear, their fortitude and courage also courses through our veins (even my mom had remarkable reservoirs of strength). If so, maybe we’ll get through these times, in which the possibility of lasting peace and sustained safety seems evermore elusive.

Until then, we approach our days with as much hope as we can, imploring life itself to pass the gravy, please.

More: To read more of Kathryn E. Livingston’s work, write her at [email protected], or order her books by clicking on these links: http://www.livwrite.blogspot.com, http://www.kathrynlivingston.com, and https://www.facebook.com/kathrynlivingstonauthor.

YIN, YANG, YOGINI: A Woman’s Quest for Balance, Strength & Inner Peace is available at Amazon.com or through your favorite bookseller!

Books by Kathryn E. Livingston.