family history, part six
It is a known fact that Old Grandad and Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, had sex at least three times during their marriage. Whether or not they made the sign of the humpbacked beast on more than those three occasions is still an open debate in my family.
Aside from the pre-nuptial conception that resulted in the birth of my father, The Bastard, there were two other known successful copulations. My grandparents unholy couplings also created my uncle Randolph II, and surprisingly to all at the time, my aunt Olphelia.
Old Grandad never bonded, connected, or even cared for Roosevelt. He never even bothered to try. There is only one known photo of Old Grandad with his eldest as a child. It was a Christmas photo, they are in front of a large well-lit tree. Roosevelt was an infant in Grandma Milly's, God rest her soul, arms. Old Grandad was standing behind them, looking disinterested and away from the camera.
Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, used to tell me that it was all because of the name. She once told me something interesting during a rare lucid break in the alcohol and narcotic cloud that enshrouded her. She told me that Old Grandad was devoured inside with jealousy and envy because his eldest son was named by and for another man. In his arrogant eyes, Roosevelt was not his child, but an illegitimate one, a real example of imagined cuckoldry. To Old Grandad, Roosevelt was also a living reminder of a failure, of the consequences of a foolish moment when he lost a game of chance and wits to "that crippled gimp bastard".
He not at all secretly wished for another son and he never played another hand of poker. In September 1945 his prayers were answered when Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, gave birth to another child. Randolph II was meant to be all that poor Roosevelt, my father The Bastard, could not be. Shakespeare was wrong about that name thing, at least as far as Old Grandad was concerned. To Old Grandad, Roosevelt was a tremendous disappointment before the ink on his birth certificate had dried.
But Randolph, yes! Randolph the Second! Oh blessed child Randolph II!
Old Grandad had his namesake, his legacy and true heir to his kingdom. It was onto Randolph II's broad shoulders and strong back that the responsibilities of managing the Barrington empire were destined to eventually fall.
Too bad it didn't work out that way.
Despite Old Grandad's best efforts, Randolph II lacked both common sense and an instinct for business. He was nothing like Old Grandad. He was thoughtful, caring and kind. He would rather share than compete. He loved flowers and stories about fairies. When Randolph II was 17, he was home on a break from one of those fancy private boarding schools where filthy rich people send their children. Old Grandad discovered him in Grandma Milly's, God rest her soul, walk-in closet. He was prancing around in a sequined designer gown singing the "Miss America" theme song along with his reflection in a mirror.
Turns out, Randolph II is as queer as a three-dollar bill. He didn't want to be the King of an empire. He wanted to be its Queen.
Also turns out, Old Grandad was the only one who was surprised by this unexpected outing in the closet.
Old Grandad mistakenly thought that Randolph II earned the nickname "Handy Randy" as a way to mock his inept incompetence with hardware, tools and the other implements associated with the family business.
In reality, the nickname was not one of mockery, but one of honor and tribute. Randolph II had been enrolled in expensive and private all male boarding schools since the age of 10. Over the course of all those long nights surrounded by many other equally confused young men, he had become incredibly skilled and highly sought for his talent at manually manipulating, um, um, certain features of the male anatomy.
Old Grandad freaked out.
He was still bound and determined to mold Handy Randy into a real man. Old Grandad immediately pulled his son from "all that East Coast intellectual faggotry". He decided that if Randolph II was to become a real man he needed to be surrounded by real men. He called his friend, the Retired Colonel, who called some not retired Colonels. Seven months later, on his 18th birthday, Handy Randy was inducted into the United States Army as a Second Lieutenant.
Nobody asked, nobody told.
There was no reason to ask, as it was blatantly obvious to all. There was no reason to tell, because Old Grandad made sure that all of new Lt. Barrington's superior officers knew well the fate of that poor young Congressman who once crossed him with another type of outing.
Aside from the pre-nuptial conception that resulted in the birth of my father, The Bastard, there were two other known successful copulations. My grandparents unholy couplings also created my uncle Randolph II, and surprisingly to all at the time, my aunt Olphelia.
Old Grandad never bonded, connected, or even cared for Roosevelt. He never even bothered to try. There is only one known photo of Old Grandad with his eldest as a child. It was a Christmas photo, they are in front of a large well-lit tree. Roosevelt was an infant in Grandma Milly's, God rest her soul, arms. Old Grandad was standing behind them, looking disinterested and away from the camera.
Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, used to tell me that it was all because of the name. She once told me something interesting during a rare lucid break in the alcohol and narcotic cloud that enshrouded her. She told me that Old Grandad was devoured inside with jealousy and envy because his eldest son was named by and for another man. In his arrogant eyes, Roosevelt was not his child, but an illegitimate one, a real example of imagined cuckoldry. To Old Grandad, Roosevelt was also a living reminder of a failure, of the consequences of a foolish moment when he lost a game of chance and wits to "that crippled gimp bastard".
He not at all secretly wished for another son and he never played another hand of poker. In September 1945 his prayers were answered when Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, gave birth to another child. Randolph II was meant to be all that poor Roosevelt, my father The Bastard, could not be. Shakespeare was wrong about that name thing, at least as far as Old Grandad was concerned. To Old Grandad, Roosevelt was a tremendous disappointment before the ink on his birth certificate had dried.
But Randolph, yes! Randolph the Second! Oh blessed child Randolph II!
Old Grandad had his namesake, his legacy and true heir to his kingdom. It was onto Randolph II's broad shoulders and strong back that the responsibilities of managing the Barrington empire were destined to eventually fall.
Too bad it didn't work out that way.
Despite Old Grandad's best efforts, Randolph II lacked both common sense and an instinct for business. He was nothing like Old Grandad. He was thoughtful, caring and kind. He would rather share than compete. He loved flowers and stories about fairies. When Randolph II was 17, he was home on a break from one of those fancy private boarding schools where filthy rich people send their children. Old Grandad discovered him in Grandma Milly's, God rest her soul, walk-in closet. He was prancing around in a sequined designer gown singing the "Miss America" theme song along with his reflection in a mirror.
Turns out, Randolph II is as queer as a three-dollar bill. He didn't want to be the King of an empire. He wanted to be its Queen.
Also turns out, Old Grandad was the only one who was surprised by this unexpected outing in the closet.
Old Grandad mistakenly thought that Randolph II earned the nickname "Handy Randy" as a way to mock his inept incompetence with hardware, tools and the other implements associated with the family business.
In reality, the nickname was not one of mockery, but one of honor and tribute. Randolph II had been enrolled in expensive and private all male boarding schools since the age of 10. Over the course of all those long nights surrounded by many other equally confused young men, he had become incredibly skilled and highly sought for his talent at manually manipulating, um, um, certain features of the male anatomy.
Old Grandad freaked out.
He was still bound and determined to mold Handy Randy into a real man. Old Grandad immediately pulled his son from "all that East Coast intellectual faggotry". He decided that if Randolph II was to become a real man he needed to be surrounded by real men. He called his friend, the Retired Colonel, who called some not retired Colonels. Seven months later, on his 18th birthday, Handy Randy was inducted into the United States Army as a Second Lieutenant.
Nobody asked, nobody told.
There was no reason to ask, as it was blatantly obvious to all. There was no reason to tell, because Old Grandad made sure that all of new Lt. Barrington's superior officers knew well the fate of that poor young Congressman who once crossed him with another type of outing.
posted by dr noyz @ 12:53 AM
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