Aunt Sis - The Storyteller

I often joke with my cousin about being switched in the cabbage patch at birth.  She identified so strongly with my mother that she even used the same dish pattern (Pink Vista), while both of us agree that I am more like her mother.   Neither of us saw our mothers the same way and it is funny and enlightening to hear each other's side of the story.

My aunt's name was Mary but we all (as my mother did) called her Sis.  She was larger than life with a self confidence that shone forth - she could do anything - well, anything she chose to do.  An expert seamstress, a quick and talented cook, flower arranger, fashion consultant, and storyteller, she filled our house with her laugh, her perfume, and her conversation whenever she came to visit.

My parents rarely talked about their upbringing and my mother, almost never, so it was Sis who filled in the pieces for us.  Born and raised in Toronto, my mother's family lived on St Joseph street in a duplex that they all shared even after their marriages.   While it must have been difficult for the parents, we cousins all grew up in this extended family and developed bonds that have survived geographical separation (and even death).  We delighted in calling ourselves 'double cousins' since my mother's brother married my father's sister.   When the duplex was demolished to make room for a new seminary, the family split up and moved apart.  The repercussions were devastating on all of us especially for my mother who I believed suffered the most at being separated from her family.

Sis was the consummate storyteller and I could listen to her for hours as she recounted tale after tale about their (to me bizarre) upbringing, always punctuating her stories with her soft infectious chuckle.  I was acutely aware of my mother's unease when Sis went off on one of her trips down memory lane - I know that they did not share the same perspective on their early life.  But my hunger for this family history overcame my guilt at my mother's obvious discomfort.   I had a deep need to know more about our family history and was frustrated that I could never get my mother to talk.  I remember asking her about the day I was born and all she said was that it was the hottest day of August and that I was late - not quite what I was hoping to hear.  Now if I had asked Sis about each of her children's birth, I would have had every detail from the moment of conception to present day.

When my children were growing up, a family tradition I started was to tell them on their birthday all about the day they were born - from the first labour pain to the joyous moment of holding them in my arms.  Even as they grew older, I continued to recount their birth story on each and every birthday - sometimes to the discomfort of their spouses.  I want my children to know about their history.

I believe my love of storytelling is inherited from Aunt Sis - wherever it came from, I am thankful for this gift.  When I visit with my grandchildren, they demand to hear stories - about their parents, about their aunts and uncles, about their cousins, and even about me.  Most of the stories have been told so many times that now my grandchildren are able to fill in when I purposely pause - 'she was soaked from the top of her head to the bottom of her shoes!'  (A particularly favourite story about my daughter who jumped into the pond at James Garden one hot Sunday afternoon).

This blog is an effort to capture these stories and to give my family their history and in doing so, I will always be grateful to Aunt Sis - my first Storyteller!