Where Does A Family Begin?

 MONDAY, AUGUST 18, 2014 AT 10:08 AM

Where does a family begin? Does it begin with our mom and dad or

their mom and dad or theirs?

For that matter, how do you define a family? My children are the

birth children of a man who hasn’t been their family for decades.

We are approaching Labor Day weekend 2014. Twenty years ago our

father died on this weekend. He left twelve of us kids along with our

mother. He also left grandchildren who got to meet him and many

who never knew him except through the stories. He will live on in

memory for a couple more generations and after that, it will be

through the stories passed on. That is what I am attempting to do

here. Pass along the stories for future generations.

The twelve of us had two sets of grandparents. Back when we were

kids, that wasn’t unusual but in today’s age, there are many kids who

have more sets of grandparents than that. Divorce and remarriage

has given families a new structure in many cases.

My father was raised by Gerald Patrick Baggot, Sr and Marguerite

Irene McGowan, affectionately known as Papa and Nonie. They lived

in Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin a short distance down I90 from our

home in Tomah. The people who raised my mom were Nicholas

Andrew Scholl and Eva Elizabeth McCauley who raised their three

daughters in Genoa, Nebraska.

Our mom and dad met at Marquette University in Milwaukee,

Wisconsin. Mom, at 87 years old, told me she could still feel the jolt

she felt when she first laid eyes on dad and noticed he was holding a

St. Basil hymnal. He used it for Dental School Choir Mother played

organ in Genoa with it so felt an immediate connection when she

saw him carrying it. She says it was much more meaningful for her

than it was for him.

Mom was dating someone else at the time but she claims he was

just playing the field and as soon as she met dad, she knew he was

THE ONE.

Mom’s parents lived in the tiny little town of Genoa NB. Mom’s

mother was a teacher in St. Edward and met her father there. I wish I

could tell you the story of how they met but mom doesn’t remember

and possibly never knew. My grandmother, Eva’s parents were Mary

Minnie Langan and William McCauley. William’s parents died when

he was 10 and the Langans adopted him and his siblings. I think it’s

amazing that he married his adopted sister. They had four children—

Cora (Aunt Coe), Edmond, Eva (my grandmother) Harry  William.

My grandmother Langan had four siblings: Elizabeth , who married a

man named Riley, Eva, who never married and lived next door to

mom and her family in Genoa William and Harley (?) What she

remembers about her grandfather McCauley is combing his beard.

She also remembers that she never heard her mom cry so hard as

she did when he died. Her grandmother was an interesting woman.

She loved to dance and William would drive her five hours in their

Cadillac so she could do so. That meant leaving Cora alone on the

prairie with her younger siblings for many hours at night. Mom didn’t

think too highly of her grandmother for that reason but said she got

alone fairly well with her although she was not a “soft” person.

When her sister, Elizabeth came to visit, she would stay with Eva

rather than Minnie.

Papa Scholl lived with us on Sorenson’s farm for 9 years after

Grandma Eva died from 1957 to 1966. He was a quiet, perhaps even

morose individual who loved his rose garden, his gladiolas. He

helped mom A LOT . I’ve written a lot about Papa scholl over the

years. He was a large part of my childhood. His was the first death I

experienced personally. He was the sort of quiet man you might be

tempted to overlook. He never said I love you but I always felt loved

by him. He loved potato pancakes. Mom says he would shower and

shaving get all fixed up to come and pick us up at school every day

just to see if he was going on a date. He would sit and rock the

cradle where the baby was and watch us when mom ran her errands.

My most enduring Image of him is out in the garden in his long

sleeves and long pants which I never understood until I started

gardening myself. It keeps the bugs and creepy crawlies away well

he gives you a layer of protection. It also prevents sunburn. I

would’ve loved to have known My grandmother. The only way I

know her is through the stories that are admittedly colored

with nostalgia and sadness. Perhaps that’s how best we all I

remembered. Through the haze of grief and the missing of them that

blurs the unpleasant and accentuates the positive the tender the

glow.