Peanut Brothers and Jealous

This Fathers Day I am remembering my dad, of course, and thinking of my daughters who are now both in or on their way to northern Manitoba, but I am also thinking of brothers, mothers and peanut butter.

This is years ago - I'm thinking I was perhaps 15 or 16, but it might have been later as Audrey thinks she was there as well - standing in the driveway with an astonishing number of relations that have delightfully converged on our house in Leduc in some kind of impromptu family reunion. Most of Dad's surviving siblings are there: Garry (who passed from cancer six or 7 years later), Ena and Wendell, as well as Uncle Harold's widow Anna and Gramma Irene. Ena's husband Frank and Garry's wife Janice are in attendance too. 

There are stubby brown bottles of beer in most of the men's hands and several of the ladies' as well. Visiting vehicles and Frank's camperized van have cordoned off a section of our long driveway, and although the picnic table is full, hardly anyone is sitting at it, much of the open back yard is empty as well.

 A steady procession of food makes its way from the kitchen to the backyard and driveway. A proper sit-down meal has been foregone in favour of casual bite-sized nibbles - baskets of battered pickerel cooked from the catch that Wendell brought down from Thompson, trays of Janice's pizza buns and platters of sausage, cheese and crackers, as well as pickled eggs, beets and red onions.

Garry, Dad, Ena and Mum

My uncles have always been a gregarious bunch, eager to laugh and share stories - if I have any skill at storytelling is due to hearing it done so marvelously at gatherings like these. And apprenticing here too - when I was 10 or 11 I told jokes I had heard on comedy records to much of this same group in our basement for at least 15-20 minutes. I remember Garry wiping his eyes from laughter and Janice begging me to stop so she could catch her breath. 

This time around I am mostly listening, and there are peals of laughter coming from where Dad is holding court with his brothers. Somehow the words "peanut butter" drift out of this group and fall into Gramma Irene's ear. She is perhaps 80 by this point but still as sharp as a tack and as acerbic as a spoon of lemon juice.

Dad, Mum, Tara and Gramma Irene - 198?

She shoulders her way into the group and says, "What's so funny about peanut butter?"

This prompts another round of laughter from the brothers, but Gramma is unmoved. The brothers' eyes all turn to my father, either because he is the oldest, its his party, or because he was the one who said it and drew Gramma's attention.

Dad grinned at his mother and said, "Oh, we were just laughing at how much of a staple it was for us growing up."

"What's so funny about that?" Gramma demanded. "Lots of people eat peanut butter." This prompted another round of chuckles from the assembled siblings.

"Well, sure, " Dad agreed, "But Mum, I ate so much of it at home, I don't think I had it again until I was maybe 31!"

His brothers laughed in amusement and agreement, but Gramma was not to be outdone. When the chuckling died down, she looked Dad dead in the eye, and said levelly, "Funny that none of you ever got tired of beer."

Glory and Wendell and I in Hudson Bay SK,  2016

Dad's jaw dropped as Garry and Wendell howled with laughter, then he grinned and nodded, conceding the point to Gramma, who, now satisfied at having regained the upper hand, moved back over with the other ladies. From everyone not in earshot you could hear whispers of "What did she say?" or "Was that something about peanut butter?" or "Gramma Irene said what?!" The repartee quickly circulated among the assembly and cemented Gramma's reputation as someone not to be trifled with for at least another decade or so.

This is probably the purest memory of both my father and my extended family that I have, and I don't know why it has taken me this long to write it down.