Aunt Janet

One of the qualities that make a Petry a Petry is the conviction to stand up for what you think is right. At it's best, it means that we want to do the right thing, to defend those who needs it, and a general dislike of bullies. At it's worst, it results in us, as a friend of mine has put it, dying over very petty hills. The good news, is that we usually reserve these most petty of hills to fight over for family. This leads me to my Aunt Janet and her younger brother, my father, John. 

My Aunt Janet

Janet was the second of 6 kinds. Ann, the eldest, was the peacemaker who seemed to have not inherited this trait. But Janet and John, well... The force is strong in my father, and was strong is his sister as well. The best story to describe this trait is one that when I just mentioned it to my father the other day, reminiscing about Janet, made him want to litigate the argument all over again with me. Sorry about that, Mom.

Janet was over talking to my Dad one day after some family gathering. As these things do, the conversation turned to how things were when they were kids at the dinner table. Dad was telling some story, and Janet interrupted him. "That can't be how it was. That's not where I sat at the dinner table." At that moment, I could almost hear the announcer shouting that we should all get ready to rumble.

My father immediately explained to Janet how her memory couldn't possibly be correct. After all, he had to be right. He is a Petry, he knew he was right, and of course, Janet couldn't be right if he was. So he explained how he knew were he sat at the table complete with making a diagram out of things at the table.

Janet, because she was a Petry, she knew she was right, and of course if she was right, then Dad couldn't be right. So she explained patiently how he didn't have the foggiest idea about where they sat as kids. She was older than Dad, and of course she remembered perfectly well where they sat as kids, and his diagram was all wrong, here's how they were arranged.

Now, at this point, you have to wonder, what difference does it make where anyone sat at a dining room table 40 or 50 or 60 years ago? The details of the story didn't really matter that much to the seating arrangement. And besides, over the course of, say, 20 years and 6 kids, surely where they all sat at the table shifted. They could have both been right depending on exactly when the story being told actually happened and when Janet was referring to. And, again, what difference does it make, really, in the grand scheme of things? You'd be right on all those points. It doesn't matter. The kids did shift around as more kids were added, and as different group dynamics prompted my grandparents to move their kids around to help police their behavior. But to Dad and Janet, none of that really mattered. They knew they were right. 

So, around now, in a reasonable world, one of these two titans would have just backed down and said, "Wait... I'm arguing about something as trivial as seating at a dining room table 40 or 50 years ago... Who cares?!" If you did, the you, dear reader, aren't a Petry. They did the only thing a Petry could do in this case - they called another Petry to settle the argument. I'm pretty sure that they called my aunt Sue, who is probably third on the list of most strong in her convictions in the family. 

Can you guess what happened next? What the only possible outcome of this phone call could have been? Of course! Sue explained to both of them that they were both wrong, and that the seating at the table when they were kids was a third configuration that neither Dad nor Janet had considered. To this day, the argument has not been resolved to anyone's satisfaction.

What I remember about Janet in this story isn't her just contrarily taking a position counter to Dad's. She had no choice there. It was genetics, pure and simple. What I remember is how through it all, she had a smile on her face. This argument drew her and my dad into shared memories of their childhood, and I could tell that she really enjoyed those memories as they washed over her, as well as making Dad a little crazy in the process. That argument wasn't about where they sat as kids. It was Janet telling my Dad that she loved him, and that their shared history as kids was important enough to be not just some petty hill to fight over, but a central part of both of their lives.

I'll miss my Aunt Janet, and all the stories that she made my Dad crazy in the retelling and arguing over all the petty details that didn't matter (except, of course, they did). I'll miss how she'd get Dad going, and be genuinely pleased to have that engagement with him, because driving him crazy was how she showed she cared, and him getting crazy let her know that he cared too. I'll miss how at every family gathering, she would be there, smiling a little at the chaos and the friction and the challenge of family because they can only really make you crazy because they are family and you love them. Rest in peace, Aunt Janet... Or, perhaps, because you're a Petry and you're sitting around a card table in the sky with Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Ann... maybe peace is the wrong word. After all, you've got some stories to argue about with them, and I'm sure you've been waiting to make Grandpa a little crazy with you again and to let him know that you love him too.