re·doubt·a·ble (r
-dou
t
-bl)
-dout-bl)adj.
1. Arousing fear or awe; formidable.
2. Worthy of respect or honor.
[Middle English redoubtabel, from Old French redoutable, from redouter, to dread : re-, re- + douter, to doubt, fear; see doubt.]
My mother was one of eleven children (nine surviving to adulthood.) Mama was the oldest girl; she had 4 sisters, and 4 surviving brothers.
Aunt "M.," the youngest girl in the family, would have been about 14 when I was born, and it is about her that I tell the following story. Oh, let me say, in beginning, that definition 1. above is the one I apply to her for the purposes of this story, although she actually was eligible for definition 2. In later years, she was a dedicated mother to her only child, a son who was severely brain-injured at age 16, and consequently never able to live an independent life.
The date was about 1944. I know that V-E day (June, 1945) had not yet occurred, because my daddy was still with the U.S. Army at Ft. Lewis, WA. during Aunt M.'s visit to our home in Albuquerque. Aunt M. was a member of, and an officer in, the Women's Army Corp (W.A.C.) , and at the time was stationed at a base in Big Spring, Texas. What possessed her to drive to Albuquerque to see us, I don't know. I can't bring myself to believe that our mother actually invited her, but of course, she very likely did so.
We four children, 10, 8, 6, and 4, must have been a rowdy lot, having been under the care of paid babysitters or left pretty much to fend for ourselves, since our mother, from financial necessity, worked 5-1/2 days each week. As blood relatives, Aunt M. found us absolutely unacceptable, as we were (in her eyes) undisciplined and, even worse, uncivilized, especially when it came to our table manners!
Aside: Perhaps Aunt M. was not an officer; perhaps she was a drill sergeant, at least she had the voice and attitude I associate with drill sergeants!
"Patty! (that's me). Sit up straight! Elbows off the table! Napkin and left hand in lap! No, no, no -- that's not the way you hold a fork! Ye gods!"
"Meg! No slouching! Napkin and left hand in lap! Close your mouth completely when you chew!"
"Carol! Get a cushion to sit on; you can not rake the food off your plate into your mouth! No talking with food in your mouth! Napkin and left hand in lap!"
"All of you act like heathens!"
As you can see, Aunt M. was fixated on napkins and left hands.
At age 4, my brother might have been the only one to escape her sharp tongue, but perhaps not. I just don't remember any thing specific directed toward him.
I well recall her saying, "Pat" (my mother's nickname), "have you taught these children no manners at all?"
I don't remember exactly how long Aunt M. stayed with us on that visit, but it was too long! * The drill in table manners (which I don't dispute were needed) occurred at every meal, whether or not my mother was present. We were completely cowed but, admittedly, had slightly better table manners when she left.
How my mother felt about having her children constantly corrected (and I'm sure Aunt M.'s corrections didn't stop at the table) I have no idea, but we girls all breathed a sigh of relief when the dust settled behind her car as she made her departure.
* As I've thought about this story and the following years, I don't remember that Aunt M. ever came to visit us again, although we saw her at family reunions. We must have traumatized her as much as she traumatized us.
Aunt "M.," the youngest girl in the family, would have been about 14 when I was born, and it is about her that I tell the following story. Oh, let me say, in beginning, that definition 1. above is the one I apply to her for the purposes of this story, although she actually was eligible for definition 2. In later years, she was a dedicated mother to her only child, a son who was severely brain-injured at age 16, and consequently never able to live an independent life.
The date was about 1944. I know that V-E day (June, 1945) had not yet occurred, because my daddy was still with the U.S. Army at Ft. Lewis, WA. during Aunt M.'s visit to our home in Albuquerque. Aunt M. was a member of, and an officer in, the Women's Army Corp (W.A.C.) , and at the time was stationed at a base in Big Spring, Texas. What possessed her to drive to Albuquerque to see us, I don't know. I can't bring myself to believe that our mother actually invited her, but of course, she very likely did so.
We four children, 10, 8, 6, and 4, must have been a rowdy lot, having been under the care of paid babysitters or left pretty much to fend for ourselves, since our mother, from financial necessity, worked 5-1/2 days each week. As blood relatives, Aunt M. found us absolutely unacceptable, as we were (in her eyes) undisciplined and, even worse, uncivilized, especially when it came to our table manners!
Aside: Perhaps Aunt M. was not an officer; perhaps she was a drill sergeant, at least she had the voice and attitude I associate with drill sergeants!
"Patty! (that's me). Sit up straight! Elbows off the table! Napkin and left hand in lap! No, no, no -- that's not the way you hold a fork! Ye gods!"
"Meg! No slouching! Napkin and left hand in lap! Close your mouth completely when you chew!"
"Carol! Get a cushion to sit on; you can not rake the food off your plate into your mouth! No talking with food in your mouth! Napkin and left hand in lap!"
"All of you act like heathens!"
As you can see, Aunt M. was fixated on napkins and left hands.
At age 4, my brother might have been the only one to escape her sharp tongue, but perhaps not. I just don't remember any thing specific directed toward him.
I well recall her saying, "Pat" (my mother's nickname), "have you taught these children no manners at all?"
I don't remember exactly how long Aunt M. stayed with us on that visit, but it was too long! * The drill in table manners (which I don't dispute were needed) occurred at every meal, whether or not my mother was present. We were completely cowed but, admittedly, had slightly better table manners when she left.
How my mother felt about having her children constantly corrected (and I'm sure Aunt M.'s corrections didn't stop at the table) I have no idea, but we girls all breathed a sigh of relief when the dust settled behind her car as she made her departure.
* As I've thought about this story and the following years, I don't remember that Aunt M. ever came to visit us again, although we saw her at family reunions. We must have traumatized her as much as she traumatized us.
