Today I heard a story about a woman whose decisions impacted my very existence. Up to this day her presence was nothing more than a mere triviality – the sort you only think about during an elementary school assignment. In truth she wasn’t even an afterthought, as my mind knew absolutely nothing about her. This lady, who no longer had a youthful bounce in her step, decided to leave home for the unknown. She left a house that was nestled on a beautiful island with God knows how many centuries of roots firmly entrenched in the soil. The decision to leave would unleash a wave that would replace every familiar face with that of a cold stare of another. She crossed the tumultuous Atlantic, passed through Ellis Island and settled in Massachusetts. She wasn’t looking for a new chapter, but in fact was determined to write a new book altogether. She confronted this journey not once, but numerous times. By sea and by air.
Once she had the conviction she had found what she was looking for, she called her son and daughter-in-law to join her. A difficult task because they had eight rug rats of their own that ranged from the ages of 14 to 1. In what is an unthinkable decision today, they decided to go and leave the youngest seven with a trusted neighbor as they tested the waters. A year later, they called for the remaining children to join them.
Now imagine these mischievous seven – three boys, four girls – making the journey alone. They not only had the difficulty of being youthfully innocent, but also had grown up on an island that isolated them from the outside world altogether. A world that had yet to be touched by satellites, Internet and cell phones that have considerably flattened the globe today.
The seven miraculously found their way onto the airplane without a coin in their pockets. During the journey one of the seven warned the others not to accept any food on the plane in fear they would be stuck with a large bill that would leave them with an old fashioned spanking from their father upon their arrival. Another tried to light a match in the bathroom and was punished by the stewardess. And the youngest cried all the way to their final destination because her siblings had no idea she was wearing far too many layers of clothing. “Who is watching these children?” was the question on everyone’s lips, to which the answer was always the same: one sibling pointing to the other.
What I outlined here is nothing more than a glimpse into an unbelievable tale that rings hauntingly true. The story today about this woman – my great-grandmother – and her ambition to leave São Miguel for Fall River and then ultimately having my mother, one of the seven, migrate to the United States is…simply…remarkable.
Over the last week I have been thinking a lot about the decisions in life we make that ripple not only through our lives, but also through our family trees. There was a time my parents seriously considered – bags packed, house purchased – to move us to Brazil. I was seven. I cannot even fathom the outcome.
To this I leave the following: think about these major decisions carefully because someday one of your offspring could be penning your legacy.
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