"It didn't come from my side"

I'm the one in the yellow shirt - I look normal, don't I?

Grandmama and Granddaddy Pierce moved from Memphis, TN to Topsail Island, NC when I was six or so. I don't really remember as much about the house in Kingsley Cove as far as the bedrooms go. I remember the kitchen, the living room, and the family room. Often, I would sleep on the pullout sofa in the living room when I was there - I suppose Pam slept with me but my memory of my childhood is no match for how my own mother remembered hers.

What I do know is that the kitchen was right off the living room, and I suspect that I slept there instead of in a bedroom because I liked to get up early with my granddaddy to eat breakfast. The invitation for bacon, over-easy eggs, orange juice, and toast with butter and honey was open to everyone who was willing to get up when he did. I was the only taker and as such, I guess Grandmama put me in the living room so I wouldn't wake up the rest of the house getting up. Granddaddy could move silently, but I had trouble doing so as a kid. 

Granddaddy liked for me to wait to get up until he had started making breakfast. Once I heard the bacon sizzle, I would rise, go wash my hands, and sit at the table patiently while we chatted and he cooked breakfast. I learned a lot about my granddaddy from these talks. God knows, Grandmama never let him speak with her constant narration of life as it happened. I learned that the prettiest thing he ever saw was when he would watch the chemicals being dumped into the river when he worked at Monsanto Chemical Company. He said the river turned all the colors of the rainbow. I learned that his favorite place in the world was Havana. He said it was the best vacation he ever had just before Americans were not allowed to go to Cuba anymore. I learned that he went blind for a while because he studied by oil lamp and was beaten by his father for doing so. And I learned that he loved to garden, tinker with his car, study science, and make jokes about my grandmother. Mostly, I learned that I loved him and he really loved me.  He could do no wrong in my eyes and he called me his pet. They say the most important thing that people remember about you is how you made them feel, and Granddaddy made me feel loved. 

Grandmama was a different story. She was embarrassed by me. To be more specific, she was embarrassed by the fact that I have epilepsy. She once said to a stranger in line in front of us at the grocery store  "This is my granddaughter, she has epilepsy. She looks normal, doesn't she?" I was horrified, even though I was only five or so.  

I got other signals from the adults in my life that having epilepsy was strange. Mama and Daddy both assured me that I would always have a home with them since I probably would not be able to work as an adult. They had both known people who had epilepsy when they were growing up. Reportedly, these people had not been able to hold down jobs or have families, but other than that, my parents assured me, they lived normal lives. It seemed to me that working and having a family was how one lived a normal life. 

I got signals at school, too, that epilepsy was strange and embarrassing. It was not easy marching up to my teacher's desk every day just before lunch to get my medicine with whispers all around me. I would make my lonely trip to the water fountain to take my Dilantin and Phenobarbital. In first grade, and throughout elementary school, some children were not allowed to play with me because their parents were afraid that their child would catch epilepsy from me. It happened to me so often that I got to where I would let people know right off the bat and have them check with their parents to see if it was okay if they played with me. I didn't want to get attached to a friend who couldn't be my friend anymore.

The most devastating event for me concerning my feelings about having epilepsy happened one night as I lay on that sofabed in Grandmama's Memphis home on Kingsley Cove. I never have slept well. Mama and Grandmama were in the kitchen and they never really got along. I think that Grandmama liked to upset my mother. She liked to upset all of the women in the lives of her sons and grandson. She wanted to be the most important woman in their lives. That night, they were apparently talking about the fact that epilepsy is genetic. "Well, if it's genetic." Grandmama insisted "it didn't come from my side of the family. No one in my family has ever had epilepsy." Mama retorted, "No one in my family ever had it either; it did not come from my side." This debate continued without resolution. I listened intently while tears streamed down my plump cheeks. I have never before or since felt like such an outcast. I felt that both sides of my family were ashamed of me and there was no way I could change it. To this day, that conversation haunts me. But they finally went to bed, and I finally went to sleep, and do you know something? The next morning, I got up with my granddaddy and he made me eggs and bacon and toast with butter and honey. He beamed at me and told me stories of his youth and he made me feel loved again.

Years later when I told this story to my mother, she denied it ever happened. But I know that it did, and I know that it hurt, and I know that many others have been similarly hurt by their families. But still, we love our families, and we endure. We live with our challenges, We overcome our challenges. My parents generous offer to always provide me a home made me determined to work and have a family and live a normal life. Not normal for an epileptic - just normal, or as close as I could get. Do any of us truly achieve or even know exactly what normal is?

Incidentally, my genealogy uncovered the death record of my great-grandfather James Fears, Grandmama's father. Guess what he died from - an epileptic seizure. So, I guess it did come from your side, Grandmama. Not that it matters in the least.