“May you live in interesting times,” my dad’s favorite curse. His college studies were History with a focus on China. Chinese sayings just always had a way of entering those moments when life was teaching you a lesson. The man grew up poor. He was a white boy in the hood. The guy grew up in the projects, one of the few white families. The joke was always that the Great Depression didn't end til he came back from Vietnam and finished college. He had four brothers and grew up in Saint Johns, the fifth quadrant, of the city of Portland. I think that fitting, the white boy who had the other experience outside the square.
The family were early Euro arrivals in the area of Portland. They had a land grant where terminal 4 of the Port of Portland resides. They were given a pittance in return for eminent domain. The only piece left over is a family cemetery that lies off the side of the road in an industrial area of N Portland.
My kin are the product of non-illustrious stock. Poor Irish, poorer Polish, Germans falling on hard times, French adventurers who drank themselves into fur trading, and the native women whom they may have owned or abused. My grandfather was a dick, he died of emphysema in his early 50s. My father’s proudest accomplishment is not falling into the same rut as his ancestors. He defeated alcoholism, wild emotions, and still struggles at night with PTSD from Vietnam. If life were rated by where you started and what you gave to your children, the man would rank amongst the all time champs.
My dad has 3 brothers. They were initially raised in a 2 bedroom house. The 4 brothers all crammed into a small room. My grandpa was hard on them and a vicious alcoholic. They hid behind their mother, a small 5” tall polish and french Canadian lady - birth name Genevieve Charbonneau. The boys were divided by a large age gap of about 8 years, between the oldest and the youngest pair. My dad, to this day, has a better relationship with his younger bro, they were kids 3 and 4.
