Since I promised my cousins I would write more stories about
the family history, I recently recalled a tale that most of my cousins don’t
know. (For non-family readers, you might still find it entertaining.)
My dad was the youngest of eight children. In the 30s and 40s,
most of dad’s siblings settled in a fairly small geographical area that covered
perhaps a hundred square miles of Texas. But my Uncle Marvin was always the
exception to the rule . . . whatever the rule might be.
Marvin might be considered a middle child in the sense that
he arrived about midway of the eight children. I confess I didn’t know him and
my aunt Grace very well because they did not live nearby as most of the other
uncles did, but he was consistently full of fun and laughter when they came to
visit. They seemed to move around a lot, so it was a little difficult for me to
keep up with where they lived at any given time. They didn’t visit our part of
Texas very often, and we generally did not know when they were coming ~ they just seemed to show up, and the whole
family would gather ‘round for a good visit while they were here. You could
always see the delight in my grandmother’s face when “her Marvin” was around;
her face beamed with that warm twinkling smile that radiated pleasure at even
the smallest things in life. She found great delight in the arrival of this one
son who seemed to be more prone to wanderlust than the others. And his brothers
delighted in him as well, because he came with compelling stories of adventures
and experiences from other places that captured their imaginations. He was so
warm and full of fun that I found him mesmerizing as well.
One particular memory stands out, and I now find it
absolutely stunning that we made this particular trip, but you can’t make this
stuff up!
Uncle Marvin and Aunt Grace were living in a rather barren
part of New Mexico near Farmington in the late 50s. They ran a trading post
near Blanco that catered to the nearby Native American Indian population. As I
recall, there was either a Navajo reservation nearby or at least a large
population of Navajo Indians who had settled in the area. Most of them,
amazingly, still lived in teepees. The trading post was probably the only store
within many miles where they could buy basic supplies.
We knew my uncle Marvin was running the trading post but
none of us had been there to visit. My grandmother had not seen him in a long
while, so my dad volunteered to take her for a visit. To be fair, it’s entirely
possible Marvin and Grace did not have a telephone at that point, so it might
have been difficult for us to contact them first. But we would certainly have
been able to drop them a note to ask about coming to visit. Strangely enough,
we did NOT do that, but chose to drop in on them unexpectedly instead!
You have to understand the family dynamics to appreciate
this decision; my mother was not one to drop in on folks, and was extremely
conscious of not imposing on other people. She taught us girls to be
considerate of others and unobtrusive. My dad’s side of the family, however,
believed “the more the merrier” when it came to guests, and the doors were
always open. It was a running joke in our family about the Martin relatives who
popped in unexpectedly, sometimes at the most inconvenient times. It wouldn’t
have mattered much except they often arrived at mealtimes and my mother would
be scrambling to find enough food for the extended family. So you can see that
dropping in unexpectedly on someone was definitely not her style, but dad and Grandmother did not seem to think it odd
at all.
This particular summer morning, my parents packed the car
and Grandmother and I settled into the back seat for the drive to New Mexico.
We arrived late afternoon around 4:00 and parked in front of the trading post.
It was then that the brilliant idea came to my dad to send me in like the
Trojan Horse. Uncle Marvin had not seen me in quite some time, and as a growing
eight or nine year old I had changed a lot, so Dad thought Marvin would
probably not recognize me. I was sent inside to “ask for directions” and was to
act as if I didn’t know my uncle and see if he recognized me. Then the others
were to follow after a bit and surprise him.
As a very shy little girl this did not sound like a good
plan to me, but I didn’t have much time to make my objections. So I obediently
walked toward the screen door of the store, my ponytail swinging in the New
Mexico wind. I made my presentation and as suspected, Marvin did not know me,
but valiantly attempted to give me directions. I tried to play the part of the
lost traveler, wondering when my folks were coming in to rescue me from my
embarrassment.
Mom and Dad finally opened the door and walked in behind my
Grandmother; what a surprise for Uncle Marvin! He was absolutely shocked, but
enjoyed the joke as much as anyone. He took us through the store to their
living quarters in the back where we “surprised” Aunt Grace as well.!
Looking back to that event with adult eyes, I have to wonder
at our audacity. Not only did we just show up and surprise them, but there was
no hotel or restaurant within many, many miles, so Grace was left to find a
place to bed us all down and cobble together food for everyone; I think we
stayed a day or two, so they not only showed us hospitality, but we potentially
interrupted whatever plans they might have had. I cannot remember any details
of where we slept in their tiny apartment in the back or what we might have
eaten. But I do recall that it was a time of stories and laughter, as it always
was when we got together with any of the Martins.
Ever afterward, when I was around Uncle Marvin, he would
laughingly recall the time I came into the store and he didn’t recognize me. It
became a good family joke, and I laughed over the memory of it as much as
anyone.
Some of you readers may also have people who continually pop
into your lives without warning and disrupt your plans. I sympathize. I am
enough like my mother that this has been a hard thing for me to learn to
endure. When I lived in the Dallas Metroplex, it was seldom an issue because
folks there are not too prone to just spontaneously show up. I could be fairly
certain that my friends would not be likely to drop in without calling first. Moving
back to the small town of my childhood has changed that, and it is not uncommon
to find visitors on my front porch, knocking and sometimes just opening the
door and walking in! For the most part, it no longer bothers me, although if
someone showed up as we did at Uncle Marvin’s place, suddenly needing a place
to stay and meals for a few days, I would probably come unglued. Still, as I
look in the rearview mirror of my mind and recall that trip, I don’t remember
feeling like a burden. My aunt Grace may have lived up to her name and just did
the best she could with the situation without letting on it was truly a burden
for her. Somehow, though, I think she and Uncle Marvin were probably more
unflinching and unaffected by the sudden visit than I would have been.
Marvin, like his seven siblings, grew up when the Texas
Panhandle region was still a frontier. There were not many settlements around,
and they were generally far apart. My dad told stories of his childhood,
describing how common it was for strangers passing through the area to stop at
his family’s farm and stay for supper and spend the night. His mother typically
prepared extra food, knowing it likely that someone else might be joining them
for a meal. I suspect there was an unspoken rule that if a visitor or family
came by, the children knew the drill about where they were to sleep so someone
else could have their beds. It wasn’t a question of if, but a matter of when.
These stories bring to mind a verse in the New Testament book of Hebrews: “Don’t forget to show hospitality to
strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without
realizing it!” (Heb. 13:2, NLT version)
The pioneer mindset of my grandparents prepared my dad and
his brothers to practice hospitality ~ to be ready to share what they had, to
be flexible enough to change plans to accommodate someone in need. How I need
to learn and re-learn that lesson! I am a planner, an organizer of my time. And
once I get my plans made, I am sometimes a pretty formidable wall, reluctant to
alter my course to adjust to a change in circumstances. But as I remember the
laughter and warm conversations at the Blanco Trading Post that summer, I am
convinced that I need to remember this one thing: people always trump plans. People are more important than
things, or schedules, or to-do lists ~ although I may still find it difficult
to give up my brand new pillow if you show up tonight needing a place to lay
your head!
