my mom Archives - Ramblin' with Roger

Keeping score in bowling

cognitive prosthesis

I wrote about my mother four years ago on the broad topic, but this will focus on keeping score in bowling. My sisters remember that she was in a league for at least a decade while in Binghamton, NY, and for about five years in Charlotte, NC. Recently, I learned from one of my sisters that my mother got her bank job in Charlotte because she had been the captain of her bowling team, which showed that she displayed leadership qualities! I did not know that!

In Binghamton, she bowled with her good friend Pat Fink, later Jones. But my sisters say she was also on a team with Pat Whitfield Jones, a woman from our church who was a daughter of my godparents; my parents were her son Walter’s godparents.

I don’t specifically remember where my mom and her friends bowled. But I’m sure I went to some of her league games with her.

Keeping score

Moreover, as noted, I learned to keep score in bowling from my mother and/or her friends. But with the current lanes, scoring is automatic. I was mildly saddened when I first experienced this “new” thing.

Here’s a real sidebar, where Cory Doctorow alluded to a phenomenon: “I used to walk around with a hundred phone numbers in my head. Now I remember two, maybe three on a good day. Which is fine!…

“Whenever we adopt a cognitive prosthesis, there’s always someone who overweights the value of the old system of unassisted thinking, while ignoring the cool things we can do with the free capacity we get…

“Versions of this continue to play out. When I was a kid, there was a moral panic that pocket calculators would make us all innumerate (an argument advanced by people who know so little about mathematics that they think it’s the same thing as arithmetic).

“Now I keep hearing about millennials who can’t read an analog clock, a skill that has as much objective utility as knowing how to interpret a slide-rule or convert from Francs to Lire to Deutschemarks. Not actually useless, but entirely bound to a specific time and place and a mere historical curiosity at some later date.” [I’m not sure I agree with the analog clock analogy, but whatever.]

Yet I still can keep scoring in bowling, which has value to me. I love that my mother taught me something of what is now of limited applicability precisely because it links us not only to the task but also to a specific timeframe. My childhood memory is remarkably spotty, so I embrace whatever connection exists.

Family

My father and my sisters would occasionally bowl, but my sisters said they weren’t very good at it. This was before bowling establishments installed barriers to prevent people from throwing gutter balls. I was pretty competent in my few years in a league. I assume the years of my mother’s play made her a decent bowler.

So this was Roger and his mom again, which is cool. Gertrude Elizabeth (Trudy) Green, nee Williams, died on this date in 2011.

My mom’s bells

Jean Nate

I was talking to my sisters recently about my mom’s bells, our mom’s porcelain bells. She used to collect these souvenir items, which were easy to come by. It was great because when traveling for the SBDC in the 1990s, I would get one from Nashville, New Orleans, Orlando, or wherever the ASBDC annual meeting took place.

My sisters gave me some context of the whole thing. My father returned from a trip somewhere and brought her a bell. Knowing her, she would have said, “Oh, that’s very nice.” So he would get her another bell and another. Suddenly, she had a collection of them.

This went on for several years until one day, I heard that she didn’t want those “dust collectors” anymore, and I thought, “Oh, what a bummer.”

The more accurate story was that she was dusting them. The bells resided on this semi-wall between the dining room and the living room of their house in Charlotte, NC. She got up on a step ladder or a stoop, fell, and hurt herself. That was the end of her collecting the bells. I did not know the why of the story until recently.

It makes me wonder if she ever really wanted that collection of bells or if she saw that it gave my father, me, and maybe others joy at getting her something that she didn’t have. It saddened me to think that perhaps she never really wanted the bells. Once she experienced physical pain as a direct result of having them, that was that.

Toilet Water

When I was growing up, the go-to present for our mom was JEAN NATÉ. “The perfume was first launched back in 1935 for the Jean Nate Company, which was later bought by Revlon. This timeless classic possesses citrus, floral, and spicy notes, such as lavender, jasmine, rose, carnation, lily of the valley, cedar, tonka bean, musk, and sandalwood.” But it’s described here as Eau de Toilette.

It was often a bust when I tried to go off script in gift giving. In 1981, I bought her an LP, Joe Jackson’s Jumpin’ Jive, based on my understanding that she liked some of the original Louis Jordan and Cab Calloway songs. She was a tactful woman, but it was pretty evident that she did not particularly enjoy my selection. I went back to the bells.

My mom, Gertrude Elizabeth (Trudy) Green, nee Williams, would have been 98 today.

This picture is 75 years old

March 12, 1950

This picture is 75 years old.

I looked through all of the pictures of my parents, Les and Gertrude (Trudy), on their wedding anniversary, March 12th, that I have posted on this blog. Interestingly, from 2005, when I started the blog, to 2011, the year my mom died, I didn’t post any. Since my dad had died in 2000, I didn’t even think to mention their anniversary.

After she died, though, I felt liberated to write whatever about them. And it also recontextualized how I saw them as a couple. My sisters and I often have ZOOM conversations on Sunday afternoons, which started during COVID, and early on, a lot of conversations were about their dynamics individually and as a couple.

Still, I often used a group photo, as I did here on March 12. It’s probably because I think it’s a hoot; it looks like a bunch of wary relatives.

Changing it up

But to my knowledge, I’ve never used this photo. My sister Marcia, the keeper of the pictures, posted it on Facebook eight years ago, and then sister Leslie reposted it recently. I have no idea who took it. If I were a betting man, it would probably be one of my maternal grandmother Williams’ brothers, Ed or Ernie Yates.

This picture is in the First Ward of Binghamton, NY, near 13 Maple Street, on March 12, 1950. I was always grateful that they decided to get married in a year ending with a zero; it made the math much more straightforward. So I can remember the family drama on March 12, 1995, for instance, a story for another time.

My father looks happy in this photo. But my mother is more contemplative, wondering what she’s gotten herself into, which is a reasonable concern. Or maybe she’s just looking at someone, maybe a younger cousin. I use the terms “mother” and “father” loosely because I wasn’t born until five days shy of three years later.

My parents were married 50 years and two days shy of five months.

My mom was a proud black woman

identity

Trudy Green My mom was a proud black woman. I point this out invariably when I end up having conversations about race with a small subset of white Americans. They’ll point out that a certain person may or may not be “really black” because their skin is lighter.

When they make out this observation, they often point out that the reason for the color disparity is the likelihood of rape must have taken place. These presumptions end up bugging me.

Let’s start with a simple Wikipedia definition: “African Americans, also known as Black Americans or Afro-Americans, are an ethnic group consisting of Americans with partial or total ancestry from any of the Black racial groups of Africa. “

Here’s an interesting 2022 Pew Research piece: Race Is Central to Identity for Black Americans and Affects How They Connect With Each Other. Many learn about ancestors and U.S. Black history from family.

I suspect that this trend is changing: “While majorities of all age groups of Black people say being Black shapes how they think about themselves, younger Black Americans are less likely to say this – Black adults ages 50 and older are more likely than Black adults ages 18 to 29 to say that being Black is very or extremely important to how they think of themselves.”

Irish

As my Ancestry breakdown shows, my mother was over 50% Irish. Her paternal grandmother was Margaret Collins, whose parents were almost certainly born in County Cork, Ireland. But she must also have had multiple Irish relatives on her mother’s side, which I haven’t pursued as vigorously. These were very likely consensual relationships.

Still, she always identified as black. As this story about my mom, she leaned into being black even when others were unaware of her ethnicity. It was the antithesis of passing.

Gertrude Elizabeth (Williams) Green, a/k/a Trudy, would Green would have been 97 today. She passed on February 2, 2011. This photo is from my birthday in 2005. But the event was the wedding of her granddaughter Rebecca Jade to Rico.

Green beer and other traditions

Long Black Veil

Even though I don’t drink green beer, or indeed ANY beer, I find it necessary to note St. Patrick’s Day. As I’ve mentioned, I’m at least a quarter Irish. As Ancestry refines its processes, I become MORE Irish, 28%, in fact, as opposed to 19% Nigerian.

This means, of course, that my mother’s father’s mother, Margaret Collins Williams (1865-1931), and her still unidentified parents, even if they were wholly Irish, are not my only ancestors from the Emerald Isle. I must have OTHER ancestors to find, including on my father’s side. Parent 1 is my mom, and Parent 2 is my dad.

The Census Bureau is always useful in noting holidays, and this one is no exception. “Originally a religious holiday to honor St. Patrick, who introduced Christianity to Ireland in the 5th century, St. Patrick’s Day has evolved into a celebration of all things Irish.”

Six years ago, I noted a group called The Burns Sisters out of Ithaca, NY. I was fascinated by them because their late father, John, was the mayor of Binghamton when I was growing up. He and his wife had twelve kids. Here are Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral and Prayer Of St. Francis.

Chieftains

I was very fond of the group The Chieftains. Kelly wrote about them a few times, including this farewell to Paddy Moloney. He links to other videos as well.

But I decided to get really lazy and found something called Best of The Chieftains 2017, which has a YouTube chain of several videos. It includes most of the tracks from a 1995 album called Long Black Veil, which I love, and several from Irish Heartbeat, an album with Van Morrison that someone used to play in my office back in the day. And there are a bunch of other songs. Did I mention that there were 250 videos?

Finally, I found this loud, raucous cut called Irish Blessing by a group called JOETOWN.

Professional Irishman

Malachy McCourt, “who fled a melancholic childhood in Ireland for America, where he applied his blarney and brogue to become something of a professional Irishman as a thespian, a barkeep and a best-selling memoirist, died… in Manhattan. He was 92…

“In 1952, when he was 20, the Brooklyn-born Mr. McCourt reunited with New York.

“He embarked from Ireland with a ticket paid for with $200 in savings sent by his older brother, Frank McCourt, who had emigrated earlier and was working as a public school English teacher.”