"...they were from Luxembourg, which is a tiny European principality that has alot of nerve calling itself a country.."
Feuds and Hugs, February 21 2006
My Mom's brother Tom died sometime last week. His body was discovered three to seven days after he passed away. He probably died from complications of diabetes. He never went to the doctor.
My Uncle Tom was really funny, and really stubborn. That's my Mom's family, funny and stubborn. And always feuding. As far back as I can remember, fathers, sons, brothers and sisters were not speaking to each other for various reasons. Usually an insult taken too far or an important day forgotten. Always followed by reconciliations. Water flowing under the bridges, hugs, kisses, forgiveness... until the next time.
My Dad's side of the family is supposed to be funny because they're Irish and that's what Irish people do. But the Kilmartins are accidentally funny. My Dad wears one pair of shorts, everyday. His favorite coffee is brewed in the waiting area of Big O Tires. The Kilmartins are quirky funny. The Lorges are funny funny.
Lorge is some kind of French Catholic name. The rumor is they were from Luxembourg, which is a tiny European principality that has alot of nerve calling itself a country. It's like Monaco without money. In my mind, I am Irish, not Luxembourgian, or whatever the hell it's called. I never knew my great-grandparents, but I am told Great Grandma Lorge was a class A bitch. And a devout Catholic who had statues of Jesus all over the house. Her son, Grandpa Lorge, really set the tone for my mom, her brother Tom, sister Patti and all of his grandchildren, including me.
Grampa Lorge was funny, Archie Bunker funny. His name was Frank and he played football for the Cardinals, when they were in Chicago and before the NFL was professional. They literally played in pigskin and split the door at the end of the game. The damage he did to his knees made his old age unbearably painful. Grampa Lorge was a lifelong Bears fan. When I was starting in comedy, I would drive the Blazer to Chicago, and do a few weeks of shit- pay club work, all because I could stay with my Grampa. He would taunt me with racist jokes cause I was a reactionary San Francisco liberal. We had a good time.
The toughest Dads make the greatest Grampas.
The Lorge family suffered a terrible blow when my Mom's mother died from cancer. She was 42, and she too, refused to go to the doctor. I am lucky enough just to speculate here, but the loss of a parent at a young age seems to mark a person forever. The reaction will be huge. Whether you take it out on yourself or the world is up to you. It takes some people their entire lives to regain their footing.
My Uncle Tom lived most of his adult life in San Jose. Every Christmas and Easter, Tom, his wife Myrna and their kids would come to our house, and vice versa. We spent those holidays together for so many years. And then there was a feud, and we stopped.
Tom's wife Myrna was a woman of an unknown age. Apparently she was older than Tom and swore him to secrecy. After their divorce, my Mom asked Tom to spill the beans. He refused. He promised not to tell, and that was that. Mom, Aunt Patti, Uncle Tom- they had an emotional reunion last year, where water rushed under bridges, and there were hugs and kisses.
