eThoughts : A Letter to Arlee

Part of the series Letters to the Family™ (© 2006), a division of Book-In-A-Drawer Publications.™

Family is an interesting entity. I once heard someone say that families would get along a lot better if we treated the members as courteously as we treat strangers. I’m not necessarily buying that statement, but it does seem a lot easier to hurt the ones we love than it does to hurt strangers. When we say that family is there for us, it seems to include the family being handy to absorb our many hurts. After all, that DNA both helps and hinders with its particular manifestations—and we can’t help but notice those similarities to other family members. So what we don’t like about ourselves is not to like in our relatives. However, I’ve noticed that no matter how far we run, we can’t run from ourselves or our family—we are bound to them, through modeling or through DNA or, as is likely, through both.

My uncle, Walter Arlee Gilbert, born in 1912, was my mother’s oldest brother. When I say he was an independent person, I really mean independent. Rather than wait on others, he took matters into his own hands and made his way. As I recall, he managed a pretty good living driving as an independent trucker for over 50 years. He was an opinionated person, and dominant—six foot three or four as I remember, with bones that probably weighed more than I do. If you needed someone to rely on, he seemed to be that person, though he made mistakes, and like all of us, could hurt the ones he loved. Nonetheless, I understood his word was gold. When I was in my early 20s, he still seemed to like me, though he would attempt to be unmerciful about my long hair and vagabond ways. But I stood my ground with him, not out of arrogance, but in trying to answer his barbs with evenness. I like to think that is what he respected. As for me, I couldn’t help but like him, despite his sometimes unsupported opinions. If you stuck with him and didn’t either take things personally or give them, he was good to go. But I had a feeling he had a memory like an elephant and would not easily forget being maligned or mistreated.

My mother and Arlee did not really get along—I don’t know why exactly, except my mother took offense to his dominance. Actually I think she was put off how easily independence seemed to come to him as a dominant male as opposed to a female, even a very strong female.

In any case, time, as it does for all of us, caught up with him—though I think time had a mighty struggle getting him to let go. When I wrote this letter to him, he was in serious health trouble, yet it was about fifteen months before time finally convinced him to let it all go. In the meantime, he was apparently giving his caretakers and family some trouble, his stubbornness seemed to be the topic more than his health. It struck me as a bit odd that here he was living the last bit of his life, yet his dominance was still perturbing those around him.

I heard from my mother that her sister Ruth read the letter to him, and that he cried. That was not something I expected, but maybe that was part of my assumption about him as well. Both Ruth and my mother seemed to appreciate the stillness the letter seemed to spark in him. I was glad about that, and glad to contribute some modicum of peace to a family soul that did not have much support, mostly because no one thought he really needed it.

May 12, 1991

Arlee:

Mom said that you had to return to the hospital, more accurately, that you drove yourself to the hospital. And people say you are stubborn. It seems to me that if you were so stubborn and didn’t listen to anyone or anything you wouldn’t have gone to the hospital at all. (Just giving you some ammunition so you can fire back at your critics.)

In any case, she told me that you are not able to speak very well, so I thought that I would write you.

I have been giving some thought lately to the events in our lives that have some influence on shaping our behavior. I have been wondering about people’s perspectives concerning others as well. In looking at what I think I know about our family, I suspect that stubbornness was, and maybe still is, a survival trait that has served us well. At least better than if we did not have it.

It is a strange (and wonderful) life, and making our way in it and through all the beliefs that are foisted upon us is a monumental undertaking. In order to be an individual in a world full of people telling you the way you should be—well, it takes a certain amount of stubbornness. Frankly it has always seemed to me that three-fourths of what I hear and see is a bunch of crap (and I may be a bit conservative there). When all you know, or sense, is that things don’t seem right, you are obviously left to your own devices.

Well, it seems to me that you have done well in that regard. You worked, you saved, you met the struggle. The constant struggle may not have been what you would have wished, but wishes and reality do not always lie together.

Life does have an impact. And a residual of stubbornness (and of life for that matter) can be loneliness. Sometimes I wonder just what is all that noise going on around me, does someone actually have something to say? And just what kind of noise am I making, do I have anything to say?

If I pay attention to that, I realize that we all can be lonely. When we make noise (such as unsolicited advice or hard and fast character judgments), we are really trying to not be lonely, we are seeking friends. Basically, we are just kind of clumsy at it.

That is neither good nor bad in the long run. All things seem to wash clean in the light. Nonetheless, we sometimes forget to say “Hey, I know you. We are a lot alike.” Perhaps because of common characteristics that are considered negative, such admissions can stick in our throats, even if it helps to alleviate loneliness and bring us together. (Humbleness is a tough one.) I know my Mom can be guilty of this in your case and I know I can be in her case.

Well, I have to smile. I see my Mom and Dad in myself. I see you in myself, and Harold, and the rest. (Ted and Becky were just out here and that helped to remind me.) Because I am also experiencing life, I feel more than the time that is mine. I feel the family’s time through our common blood and through the family stories and the family history. And because of that, I feel I know you, that I know the family, and that we are a lot alike. And you know, Arlee, I like it. And I give it to my children to like and I hope they will feel the same.

Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you lately, Arlee. I like it. Sometimes it’s not so lonely after all.

Get well and be stubborn if you feel like it.

Love, Travis