It’s Tuesday. I’m old.
Sign #1: I asked our office manager to order me a VHS head cleaner this morning. I had to convince her I was not joking (needed it for a collection we’re digitizing) and remind her that I really couldn’t just pop down to Blockbuster and buy one.
Sign#2: Went to the hot dog stand across the street for lunch today. There was a cute youngster of about 2o wearing a Violent Femmes Hallowed Ground T-shirt. I mentioned that I had seen them on that tour. He said he had too. I was very confused. Turns out he saw them on the 40th anniversary reissue tour a few weeks ago. I, on the other hand, saw them in 1984 on the tour from when the album was first released.
I’m OK with getting old (the alternative sucks). I just hope I never become an old person. Yes, there is a difference.
End of an era
My last surviving aunt died last week. Her funeral was today. That whole generation of my family–my parents plus all their siblings and their siblings’ spouses–is now gone. My aunt was 89, so while her passing was sudden, it was not completely unexpected. But it means there are a lot of questions about the family that will probably now remain forever unanswered.
My first uncle died young when I was still a toddler and I have no memory of him at all. I also didn’t know his children (my oldest first cousins). Apparently there were three of them, but due to the age dynamics on that side of the family they were all much closer to my parents’ age than to mine, and they’re all dead now.
Next came my dad’s oldest sister (child number two on that side of the family), who died when I was in my early twenties. She had two sons who were closer to my parents’s age (and had children older than me) and two daughters who were eight to ten years older than me. She married my uncle twice; he had one other wife, no children, and a murder conviction* in between the two marriages. I knew all these cousins when I was younger but we lost touch. The oldest is now dead.
Another of my dad’s sisters (child number five) died when I was 33, leaving one child. His only brother (child number three) died when I was 43. This brother had no children with his wife, but there are suspicions that a “nephew” may have actually been a little bit closer. By this time, my dad (the youngest) and his sister (number four, with one child) were the only survivors on that side of the family. My dad died in 2013 and his sister died in 2015 at age 94. I’m still close to my one local cousin on my dad’s side.
The age dynamics were a little less odd on my mom’s side of the family. Her younger sister died in 2015, the first on that side of the family. Her two sons are also dead now, the older of the two died this summer, while the younger, a drag performer of some local acclaim, died in 2016. My mom was next in 2018. Her older sister, a very independent woman and probably my favorite aunt (and longtime nextdoor neighbor) died 2022 at 94, a year after the loss of her oldest daughter. And then came this week. I’m still close to all my cousins on this side of the family, though there are some I like more than the others. Since I was an only child, it was this group that served as my own semi-siblings.
My family is shrinking. My dad and his five siblings produced ten children, three of whom are no longer around. My mom and her three sisters, produced eight children five of whom are still alive. But the eight of us have produced only four members of the next generation, and not one of those four is showing much inclination to get the following generation rolling. And since my local cousin and I have lost touch with much of my dad’s side of the family, I honestly don’t know how many kids are on that side of the fence.
*I know this was boring. Maybe next week I’ll talk more about that murder. Or my great grandfather’s brothel. Or not…