This is always the question? Growing up in a small Texas town, we are not without our “vegetable” festivals. Ours (mine)… dedicated to the Yam… the festival was aptly titled “The Yamboree”- clever, right? The Yamboree would not be complete without a Yam Queen, Queen’s pageant, Queen’s Parade, carnival and rides (including freaky carnie people), livestock show, various contests (quilting, canning, yam decorating contest--in which I won a blue ribbon circa 1986 or so, art, photography, etc), and all ending on Saturday night with the infamous “Barn Dance” (which is actually held in the old stinky Trinity street gym, and has never been held in a barn). It’s a big deal in a small town.
Growing up in this small town, many folks move away. Some don’t, but many do… I being one of those. However, the Yamboree draws a bigger crowd “home” than Thanksgiving or Christmas. Truly, I’m not joking. And I always struggle with this battle each year as the “pilgrims journey home“… to yam or not to yam?
During October in East Texas, the air is crisp but damp, there’s a bit of wind, the weather is starting to cool. You can hear the rustle of the leaves… and the excitement leading up to the Yamboree pulsates within the community. Schools in the county let out… not one, but two days. There are rides, and games, and the usual artery clogging fair foods (corn dogs, funnel cakes, turkey legs, and of course… yam pie). And growing up… these were the best days. Better than Christmas. The two days out of the year, when Mom let you walk “the square” unsupervised with your friends and a pocket full of tickets for rides… as long as you promised to check in with every lap past our school’s concession stand. That was the hangout for old and young alike. Wooden picnic tables scattered around the converted “trailer”(concession stand), are full of everyone from that girl that moved away in 3rd grade to your 1st grade teacher (now retired), and the school librarian. We were notorious for having the best burgers of any school concession on the square.
But what do you do when you just have too much baggage to go home? And I ain’t talking about Louis Vuitton. Yamboree brings back more for me than carnival rides, blue ribbons, yummy treats, and reunions with old friends. It stirs up a well of emotions that has nothing to do with celebrating our county’s cash crop of the 1930’s. To me, Yamboree is just another holiday that marks a tragedy in my life from which I may never fully recover.
My sweet, older, and only sister died the weekend of Yamboree, on a sunny Sunday after church, over 20 years ago. Twenty years later… and October is still a bitch for me. How ya like them caramel apples? So, the date of her death will forever be marked in my 11 year old mind as the third weekend of October… the weekend of the Yamboree. And, I am unapologetically, a little bit of a basket case come this time of year. It’s not something I generally broadcast to people. My parents know, of course, a few good friends from which I get a call or a text letting me know that… they too remember. And, of course, boyfriends in the past, have been warned that emotional wreckage may ensue. I think I’m entitled. But mostly, I just spend some time alone. And thus the decision this year… to once again… not yam.
I‘m not even certain I will publish these thoughts. It‘s not the fear of strangers reading it… it‘s the fear of pity from people who aren‘t strangers. Because Julie died, so accidentally and unexpectedly, outside of the overwhelming grief, I have always felt a little out of place and out of step with my peers. I was different. I was the girl that people talked in whispers about… “oh, you didn’t know… but her sister was killed…poor thing…”
What a relief, I was able to escape this in college. Nobody knew me. They didn’t know my past, and I tried my absolute hardest just to blend. I worked a part-time job all through school, even though I didn’t need or have to, just to feel like everyone else. This because my parents had saved diligently for two children to go to college, and suddenly, there was one. I dated. I partied. I had new friends. I was no longer labeled. But, the one thing I could never seem to lie about or brush over… when asked, “are you an only child” or “any brothers or sisters”? Heck, those are 1st date questions. But, how could I? How could I ever lie about Julie? How could I deny that she had ever lived, just so I could feel “normal”? And so… I didn’t. I would generally brush over it awkwardly and let the person assume she had just gotten sick or something tragic, but “normal.”
And then I was taught a lesson by a business acquaintance of mine. I was asking about his children. He said he had two. And, I of course, asked the normal follow-up… “what ages?”
He replied, “Well, Jack died of leukemia two years ago. But, he is my son and to say I only have one child would be dishonoring to his memory.”
And then he continued on with details of both his sons, as any proud father would. It taught me a lesson. The only one who feels uncomfortable is me. And so I continue to try to grow and learn to honor my sister’s memory and feel grateful for the 15 years she was part of the earthly world.
I miss her all the time. But, I especially miss her in October. Silly, I know. It’s just a trigger for me. This and her birthday. I thought I was going to breeze on past it this year. I think this every year…never works. I’ve been so busy with work and friends and activities… but, alas… here it is. Facebook being a constant reminder with all the Yamboree pics and updates. There are days when I really haaaaaaate Facebook, and yet it‘s like a train wreck… I have to look. Mostly, I feel lonely, and empty, and out of step. But, I would never trade a day of her life for anything. I’m better, we all are, because she was here. And as I once read in a very good book… “this too shall pass”.
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