Does History Repeat Itself?

History never looks like history when you are living through it.

John W. Gardner, quoted by Bill Moyers
US administrator (1912 - 2002)

I have been doing some genealogical research on the maternal side of things. Every now and again, I stop and think how bizarre it is to finally have a history. Granted, I didn’t have that history until I was 44 but better late than not at all.

I was born on January 17th, 1962 (or January 20th 1962 depending on who you ask). I was the son of the quiet, studious girl and the high school football star. They had dated since junior high and they discovered she was pregnant when she was 16 years old and he was 17 years old.

Her family lived on the estate of the widow of a prominent, well loved state Governor. My maternal grandfather was the estate caretaker and chauffeur while my maternal grandmother oversaw the housekeeping. They lived in an apartment out in the carriage house.

As I continue to dig into my maternal grandfather’s life, I see a pattern with him that makes me understand him a little better and why the decision was made to surrender (?) me for adoption.

His mother was 14 years old when she gave birth to him in 1910. After doing the math, I discovered she would have been only 13 years old when she became pregnant with him. She never married or spoke of the father. In fact, she didn’t marry until he was almost 18 years old and it certainly didn’t appear to bother her one bit. Bothof them used her maiden name until she married a widower in his junior year in high school. Sadly, she died soon after that giving birth.

While my great grandmother was ahead of the times, her son was firmly behind them. It was mentioned often that he was greatly embarrassed and even ashamed that he was born out of wedlock to such an unconventional woman. 

How troubling it is to discover that his only desire for his high school graduation gift was to be adopted by her new husband. Given a last name and somehow made legitimate…

It is even more troubling to hear that he went to great lengths to make sure that he and his mother were not buried too close to each other in the family plot. He was actually worried that people would do the math and figure out how young she was when she gave birth. I still can’t decide if he was embarrassed or being protective of her. 

I guess his discovery that his own 16 year old daughter was pregnant just sent him over the edge. He was described as despondent and heartbroken (?) over the pregnancy. He was not heartbroken enough apparently though because she was shipped off to the Crittendon house in Boston. It was a few quick months until I was born at the Lying-In ( aka Boston Hospital for Women).

There is some interesting evidence that the Governor’s widow may have facilitated the adoption process. She may have even bankrolled the event since my parents certainly had little money and B.’s family certainly had no money.

So I guess I don’t really blame him for what happened and I do believe he did what he thought was right. He had been embarrassed by his illegitmacy and maybe thought this solution would protect her (and maybe me?) from the same shame and stigma.

While I was alone in the nursery for the nine days after I was born, it is said that he and my grandmother made the train trip down to Boston to visit me. She had always felt they made the wrong decision and I wonder if this visit was a last ditch effort to change his mind.

So I guess history does repeat itself somewhat.  But when it all comes down to the end…what did he really solve?  I guess the apple doesn’t really fall far from the tree when you consider that he and I have more in common than not…we were both little bastards!