A Mere Kentucky of a Place
An Annotated Bibliography
When I was in elementary school, our teacher had us draw a picture of our family eating Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t remember the context of the assignment, but it was the first year since I had been born that my grandparents were visiting us instead of the other way around. I remember cleaning, organizing, and rearranging my room because that’s where my grandparents would be staying, and I wanted it to feel like a fancy hotel for them. I was so proud of my artistic depiction of that monumental Thanksgiving dinner,(and rightfully so! I earned a check-plus on it!) It’s still hanging on our kitchen bulletin board, so every time we sit down for a family dinner at home we can see it and remember that exciting event. Times are really different now. My grandparents’ health has dramatically declined recently and neither of them are able to travel anymore. And with everything that’s happened, it woudn’t be likely you would find us all smiling ear-to-ear like my drawing shows. I’ve prayed for a resolution to this conflict for so long, but as the Bible says, “Faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead,” (James 2:17). In other words, God helps those who help themselves. There’s no guarantee how long any of us have left, so now is the time for works, for a tangible response, for action. I can’t hope to undertake a task as monumental as this one without the knowledge I need to be qualified for the job. Though I’m equipped with a near endless supply of personal anecdotes and a burning desire in my heart for my family to be healed, my store of factual information concerning conflict resolution, family history, and the Bluegrass region is severely lacking. As I embark on this mission to fix what has been broken for years, I hope to learn more about my family, more about our history, more about myself, and hopefully restore those cheeky smiles to all of our faces.
A New History of Kentucky
Harrison, Lowell H., and James C. Klotter. University Press of Kentucky, 1997.
My great-grandfather came all the way from Sweden to Kentucky when he was fifteen. He crossed an ocean all by himself to get here when he was younger than I am now. What was so special about Kentucky that prompted him to go on this difficult and undoubtedly overwhelming journey? My grandmother’s family has lived in Kentucky for over 200 years, and many of them still live there today! What could be so endearing about Kentucky that would make them stay there generation after generation? These are questions that I want to investigate further through research in search of the objective perspective, and especially in my interview with my grandparents, for their personal viewpoint.
I think Kentucky can often get a bad rap. Some people may think it’s just a nothing state, filled only with empty fields and a bunch of hillbillies, but it’s so much more than that! I’ve known that since I was little, because my family’s annual Kentucky trips were just about equal to a Disney World vacation in my mind; however, it’s definitely something I’ve taken for granted. I know I love Kentucky, but I’ve never thought about why. Is it the people? The scenery? The history? This is definitely something I want to find out more about. I started my research on this question as broadly as I could, with a book that takes a very all-encompassing look at the history of Kentucky, to give myself a base of knowledge to build on. An unanticipated bonus was the quote that begins the first chapter. I found it very humorous while also being pertinent to one of my main research questions, and I definitely want to include it somewhere in my project:
“‘What a buzzel is amongst people about Kentucke?’ inquired a minister in 1775. ‘To hear people speak of it one would think that it was a new found paradise.’ When words failed Lewis Craig as he tried to describe the beauty of heaven during a sermon, he exclaimed that ‘it was a mere Kentucky of a place.’”
Like Lewis Craig, I am failing to find words to describe an indescribable place, but I hope that my grandparents, lifelong residents of that place, will be able to put in to words exactly that sentiment which I am struggling to convey.
“A Southern Paris: Paris, Kentucky.”
Izard, Bill. PorterBriggs.com: The Voice of the South, porterbriggs.com/a-southern-paris-paris-kentucky/. Accessed 10 Mar. 2017.
Since my show-and-tell days of kindergarten, I have always delighted in telling my peers, teachers, and any one that will listen that I go to Paris every single Christmas. After only a moment’s pause, I deliver the punchline: it’s Paris, Kentucky not Paris, France. If the delivery is right, this will elicit some laughter; if not, it’s just plain awkward. But I wonder if the victims of my overused joke would react the same way if they knew what Paris, Kentucky was actually like. Granted, my impression of Paris has really only scratched the surface. To me, it’s one of those wholesome small towns I just absolutely adore. Growing up in the suburbs, I have always had a romanticized fascination with small town life, and my annual trips to Paris allowed me to live that dream, even if it was only for a week. How exciting is it that when you run out of milk, you don’t just drive to the grocery store. It requires a “trip to town.” It’s a whole excursion. And I love that. This article points out many of the features of Paris’ history that make it what it is today, including many important historical landmarks that still exist. This has greatly deepened my knowledge of the surprising historical significance this small town holds. Learning new things about a place I’ve been countless times felt as though I was getting to know an old friend even better, which is a very humbling and rewarding experience.
One of the most interesting landmarks in Paris, Kentucky is the Shinner building, which is located on Paris’ Main Street. It is listed in Ripley’s Believe It or Not as the tallest three story building in the world. Now it is home to the Paradise Cafe, where my grandparents and I would sometimes stop for dinner after the Saturday Vigil mass at the Church of the Annunciation located just down the street. Long before that, my Aunt Sue co-owned a restaurant called Gabby’s in that same building. It turned out to be a source of conflict in the family when she lost a lot of my grandparents’ money after her “business partner” stole it and left her with nothing and no choice but to close the popular restaurant. Though this unfortunate situation has trickled down into many of the current tensions in my family, it is interesting to see how my family’s history is so intertwined with the history of the town they still call home.
New American Bible
St. Joseph Edition ed., Catholic Book Publishing Corp.
The Story of the Prodigal Son has always been a particular challenge for me to accept. We all are the prodigal son — repeatedly messing up and running farther and farther away from our Heavenly Father, but every time we go to church, or confess our sins, or spend time in prayer, we are taking a step in our own prodigal journey back to Our Father’s waiting, loving, patient, open arms. Sometimes though, in a worldly context, we feel as though we are not the prodigal son, but rather his brother- the quiet, obedient sibling who dutifully and faithfully stays at home and does what is right without being asked, only to see his disobedient little brother arrive home to steal all the praise and attention I’m sure he felt he rightfully deserved.
As someone who likes to avoid conflict and generally just tries to do what is right, this story has sometimes left a sour taste in my mouth because it just doesn’t seem fair to the faithful brother. But that is exactly the contrast that Jesus makes in this parable — it’s true the prodigal son didn’t deserve any of the rewards he got when he returned home, but that’s the point! None of us deserve the heavenly rewards we will hopefully receive after we die. If it were only up to our own righteousness, none of us would make it to heaven. It is only by Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross that we are able to overcome all of our sins. Christianity teaches that we, too, must sacrifice our pride and our jealousy and forgive our brothers and sisters just like the father forgave his prodigal son. Because if Jesus gave us exactly what our actions merit, I don’t think we would like the results.
The parable of the prodigal son is so hard for me personally to fully accept, but at the same time it is so, so powerful. The first time it really spoke to me was when it was read during mass last year. Later that night, I Facebook messaged my aunt, who had separated herself from the family, and told her what it made me think about. She didn’t give me exactly the response I wanted- it wasn’t the fairy-tale, everyone-lived-happily-ever-after, conflict-magically-resolved answer I had hoped for, but it was something. If nothing else, it brought me and my aunt closer together. Though we rarely talked before, we now write each other letters, and she sent me a third class relic of a saint (which is my most prized possesion) and a beatiful Bible for my graduation present (which I have decided to use as a source for this project). And now, less than a year later, my aunt has been back to my grandparents’ house for the first time in years. This was not by my doing in the least, and I doubt that my Facebook message played even a small part in this. It was most definitely what my mom calls a “God thing.” And the present situation is not perfect by any stretch. There are still angry fights, and hurt feelings, and long absences, but it’s progress. It’s the first step in one of many long and difficult prodigal journeys, which I hope this project will also be a part of.
“History of Paris.”
Paris, KY — History of Paris, www.paris.ky.gov/HistoryofParis.aspx. Accessed 23 Feb. 2017.
The extent of my knowledge of Paris’ history doesn’t extend farther back than my lifetime. I know only the history that I directly experienced — a new barn went up on the back half of Clearbrook farm. A new fence was installed along Clintonville Road to replace the one crushed by a fallen tree. Lexington, the nearest “big” city, gained a couple fast food restaurants, and even a Sam’s Club! I’ve recently realized that I know nothing about the more distant history of the Paris, the Paris that my ancestors would have encountered. Looking to better understand the world they lived in and therefore to develop a greater empathy with them, I figured there was no better place to begin than Paris’ official website. There I found a detailed history of the town from its very beginning up until the Civil War. Kentucky, a border state, was hit very close to home during the Civil War. Paris was home to a significant anti-slavery movement, despite the fact that many of the surrounding farms employed slave labor. Though the state officially declared itself neutral during the conflict, the people of Kentucky undoubtedly had very independent opinions concerning the conflicts that ripped apart a nation. I am now immensely curious what side my ancestors agreed with most, or if they, like their home state, preferred to remain neutral. William Hezekiah Roberts and John Williams Roberts are my ancestors who were alive during the Civil War, and it will be interesting to find out how much my grandparents know about them. In such a divisive time in history, it is highly commendable that Kentucky, as a state, was able to remain unified and strong enough to not pick a side. This could be attributed to the Kentuckian people, who are strong enough to unite in their similiarites rather than be divided over their differences. Kentucky’s Civil War neutrality speaks volumes about the character of its people, and I intend to learn more about it.
“Kentucky’s Neutrality during the Civil War.”
Forde, Laura, and Tim Talbott. KentuckyHistoricalSociety, National Endowment for the Humanities, history.ky.gov/landmark/kentuckys-neutrality-during-the-civil-war/. Accessed 12 Mar. 2017.
My mom has told me stories about her interesting experiences growing up with five siblings in a house with only one bathroom. My sister and I have fought many a bathroom battle, and we were fortunate enough to have multiple bathrooms, so my mom’s one-bathroom, five-sibling childhood is unimaginable to me. It has caused me to realize what amazing peacemaking skills my grandma must have developed to police six crazy (and I mean crazy!) kids and their bathroom needs. I really admire that quality in her, and it’s one I try to emulate in my own life. Kentucky, in its attempt to remain neutral amid arguably the most divisive conflict in American history, embraced the peacemaking path as well. Before the war even started, Kentucky politicians Henry Clay and John Crittenden proposed compromises at the national level to try to avoid war from even breaking out, but they were unfortunately unsuccessful. Upon the beginning of the war, Kentucky declared itself neutral, hoping to mediate between the two sides and bring a swifter end to the conflict. In their neutrality proclamation, it was stated that Kentucky would “be ready and anxious to mediate between the belligerents.” Kentucky chose this path despite knowing that it wouldn’t be easy. The Kentucky governor at the time, Beriah Magoffin, acknowledged, “We are a border state; we have the brunt of the battle,” yet they continued to pursue the path of peace. Even though many Kentuckians favored either the north or the south, the state itself was united in their declaration of neutrality, and that is no easy feat. Perhaps politicians now should follow the example of Kentucky’s peace-seaking leaders and we should emulate Kentucky’s Civil War generation, who were willing to unite for a common good despite their individual differences. In the divisive political climate we live in now, it would be incredibly beneficial for the entire country to take a page out of Kentucky’s book.
“House Divided Speech.”
Lincoln, Abraham. National Parks Service, U.S. Department of the Interior, www.nps.gov/liho/learn/historyculture/housedivided.htm. Accessed 14 Mar. 2017.
As I created my account on ancestry.com to start the research for this project, I hoped against all odds that I would be related to Abraham Lincoln, arguably the greatest peacemaker in this country’s history. He is my mom’s favorite president, both because of his amazing impact on this country and because they share a home state, Kentucky. Knowing that I have Kentucky roots, I was convinced that the probability was high that we were distantly related, even though the logical part of my brain reminded me that it probably wasn’t quite as likely as I wanted it to be. Luckily, I don’t have to be related to Honest Abe to be influenced by his great wisdom and to learn from his world-changing speeches.
One such speech was delivered before he even ran for president, as part of an unsuccessful bid for a Senate seat. That in itself is inspiring, because even though he didn’t win the position, his speech changed the country in a big way. The most well-known line is so simple, yet profound:
“A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
In the context of the Civil War, Lincoln obviously meant that our nation must be united if it hoped to survive in the long term. But Lincoln’s timeless advice can be applied to any number of situations, including my family’s. Though arguments and skirmishes are to be expected in a large family, we must never allow permanent rifts to form between us, or else our family as a whole will not be able to stand. Right now we are divided, but I hope that we, like Kentucky during the Civil War, will be able to overlook our differences of opinion and unite so that we can stand strong and together.
“Angels and Ages: Lincoln’s Language and Its Legacy.”
Gopnik, Adam. The New Yorker, 28 May 2007, www.newyorker.com/magazine/2007/05/28/angels-and-ages. Accessed 14 Mar. 2017.
The summer before my eighth grade year, my family took a trip to Washington D.C. Like my grandma, history was my favorite subject, and I was in Hannah-heaven walking the streets where so much of our country’s history had taken place. I had just gotten my first cell phone, and it even had a camera on it! It is no exaggeration to say that I took pictures of every single Smithsonian exhibit, war memorial, and historical plaque I came across.
Technically, the historical sightseeing was a fortunate byproduct of the real purpose of our trip: to visit my aunt and uncle and their new home in Annapolis, Maryland. They had just moved into a three story townhouse right on the Chesapeake Bay, and the tall, skinny building in such a bustling, historic town felt so whimsical to me. My sister and I got to sleep on the top floor, which had its own balcony. We basically had our own princess tower! Unfortunately, the novelty of this situation wore off by the end of our week-long stay, probably due to our living in close quarters for so long and the fact that my sister didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm for all things historical.
One of our last stops was Ford’s Theater, the location where Abraham Lincoln was assassinated while watching a play with his wife shortly after the end of the war. The tour guide took us through all the events of that fateful night, describing each occurrence with such vivid detail that I felt like John Wilkes Booth would jump out at any minute. The tour ended in the same place Lincoln’s life ended, in a small, cramped bedroom where Lincoln was taken to be cared for by a doctor and surrounded by those close to him. The room was packed the night that Lincoln breathed his last, just like the room was crowded during our tour, and the line to get into that tiny boarding house stretched out of the building and into the sweltering D.C. summer. Naturally, the heat and humidity multiplied the sibling tensions, and our bickering culminated when I told my sister that I didn’t “give a crap” that she was hot and my sister told my parents that I had used “the c-word,” (we were, and still are, a strictly no-cussing family).
I remember distinctly that exact squabble taking place on the sidewalk outside Ford’s Theater, and even more vividly, how it absolutely evaporated the minute we finally walked into that room. The void left by that great man’s death was palpable even to this day, and it’s a feeling I’ll never forget.
When Lincoln died, his Secretary of War pronounced his now famous (and highly debated) epitaph: “Now he belongs to the ages,” or “Now he belongs to the angels.” Though there is evidence for and against each possibility, I think it’s safe to say that while we might not know for sure what was said that night, Lincoln undoubtedly belongs to both the angels and the ages.
In a word, my grandparents are incredible, each in their own way. They lived out their faith both in their dutiful attendance of mass each Sunday, and in their unconditional love for their family. When their time comes, they will undoubtedly belong to the angels. But they spent almost the entirety of their lives in rural Kentucky. They will never be mentioned in a history book. People from across the country will not flock to their childhood home, or take pictures of their top hats enclosed in a glass case in a museum. When they are gone, they will not belong to the ages.
But that doesn’t mean that their lives have left any lesser of an impact than Lincoln’s did. When Lincoln died, his vision of a peaceful reconstruction period characterized by forgiveness and mercy died with him, and many of the racial tensions that plague our country today would not exist if John Wilkes Booth hadn’t done what he did. Somehow, Lincoln’s death brought about peace as well, in one instance over a hundred years later, when just being in that room abruptly ended the conflict between my sister and I.
When such a great person suddenly ceases to exist, we owe it to ourselves to live by their legacy and bring about peace, not divisions, in the aftermath. While they rest with the angels and are remembered through the ages, we must tirelessly work to ensure that they did not live in vain. That is our responsibility to those who’ve gone before us.
Why They Moved — Emigration from the Swedish Countryside to the United States, 1881–1910.
Bohlin, Jan and Anna-Maria Eurenius. Explorations in Economic History, vol. 47, 01 Jan. 2010, pp. 533–551. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1016/j.eeh.2010.07.001.
Another famously misquoted line is Neil Armstrong’s utterance as he cemented his place in history as the first man to walk on the moon. Though widely published as, “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” Armstrong himself insists that he said “a man” rather than just “man.” Regardless of what syllables actually came out of his mouth, the meaning of the phrase is poignant: even though he was simply stepping off the spacecraft and onto the moon, the action itself not much different than stepping out of a car and onto the parking lot, the ramifications, symbolism, and consequences of that simple action were huge, in the context of the entire human race. Certainly this sentiment can be applied on a smaller scale as well, such as within the confines of a single life. For example, my first step into the kindergarten classroom after tearfully saying goodbye to my parents, or my first step across the stage at my high school graduation, while both just being a small (and somewhat reluctant) step, actually mean so much more.
Before Grandada was a grandad, he was a dad- the kind of dad that worked hard all day on the farm to provide for his family while still finding time to help out at his children’s school. While chaperoning a class hiking trip, he noticed an injured child and ran to help. Come to find out, the kid was faking his injury to get some laughs from his friends. The “injured” kid didn’t have any injuries at all, while Grandada came out of the incident with a sprained ankle. When my mom was in middle school, he re-injured the same ankle while working on the farm, but this time instead of just a sprain, it was severely broken. He never had it set, perhaps out of financial necessity, or perhaps out of stubborn pride. To this day, his ankle is the size of a softball, and he works through the pain as if it didn’t exist, as he has done since the day of his injury. Though both of those steps caused him physical pain, I don’t think he would take them back, if given the chance, because they represent so much more. They represent his desire to put others before himself, to work hard, to provide for his family. These small steps show a giant part of who he is.
His father, Johann Siegfried Andersen, had to take a step that must have felt like a giant leap as well. At only fifteen years of age, he boarded a boat all by himself in Sweden and headed for America. I don’t know why he made such a drastic change in his life, but I did some research to try to find out, and will hopefully find a definitive answer during my interview with my grandparents.
Johann, whose name was changed to John upon entering America, was born in Skaraborg, Sweden, which is in present day Västra Götaland. This county is in the Western demographic region, which during the late nineteenth century had more small, individually owned farms as compared to the larger farms worked by wage laborers in the other regions. The smaller farms were worked by family members rather than hired help, so it was an economic asset to have more children in this region, which led to overpopulation. It’s possible that’s the reason my great grandpa left behind his entire family to continue his agricultural lifestyle in Paris, Kentucky.
From the late nineteenth century until the beginning of the first World War, over a million Swedes emigrated to the United States. During that period, the largest age group to emigrate was between the ages of 15–24. So many Swedish young people left their country to come to the land of opportunity, and while many of them probably left due to overpopulation in the western farmlands, it’s far too general of a statement to apply to each and every one of these young people. I look forward to asking my grandpa what prompted his father specifically to leave everything he ever knew and come to this whole new world, all by himself.
“Reconnecting with Compassion.”
Tippett, Krista. TEDPrize@UN, Nov. 2010, New York City, TED: Ideas Worth Spreading, www.ted.com/playlists/213/how_and_why_to_forgive. Accessed 25 Mar. 2017.
I think the post-Thanksgiving-dinner feeling is as important to our Thanksgiving celebration as the turkey. If the last Thursday in November doesn’t start out with the Macy’s Parade and end up with the feeling of full stomachs and grateful hearts, it just isn’t complete. As a marching band enthusiast, watching the parade is a given, one that’s even worth setting an alarm for on a school holiday. But that warm, fuzzy feeling that arrives just after the dishes are cleared and we all settle on the couch to watch a movie or bundle up to go Black Friday shopping (or rather, Black Friday looking, because we never have enough patience to wait in any of the lines), requires no effort at all; it just happens. It’s hard not to be happy after eating way too much delicious food and thinking about all the blessings we’ve been given.
That feeling has never been greater than the last Thanksgiving we celebrated in Kentucky, when I was fortunate enough to get to see every aunt and uncle at least once over our weeklong stay. They say you never really appreciate something until it’s gone, and that’s exactly how I feel about our Kentucky visits. When I was little I took my family for granted, and it wasn’t until they stopped coming to see us when we drove up that I realized just how much a blessing they are.
In that moment of realization, my heart was moved with compassion for my family. In some languages, compassion has been translated as “tolerance,” but that completely changes the meaning. Tolerance means surving an unpleasant experience, just trying to make it through. There were certainly times on that Thanksgiving trip when I was simply tolerating my family, and I’m sure they felt the same way about me.
But with a little bit of patience and a whole lot of love, we can turn our tolerance into true compassion. Compassion is not about changing the world, it’s about changing ourselves, and making that intentional decision to love rather than tolerate is one change that makes all the difference.
Krista Tippett, an esteemed journalist and expert on compassion, says, “each and every one of us, frail and flawed as we may be, inadequate as we may feel, has exactly what is needed to help repair the part of the world that we can see and touch.” That is exactly what I intend to do.
It’s sometimes harder to be compassionate to those closer to us. Just ask the six Anderson siblings who had to grow up with only one bathroom- you can’t get any closer than that! It’s easy to see the flaws in the people we are around all the time, and it might seem like that would present an obstacle to overcome in our mission to love. Quite the contrary, our flaws are what make us human. They unite us in our humanity, and are our richest sources of compassion.
Our imperfections shouldn’t be overlooked or ignored or tolerated; they should be celebrated. We aren’t perfect, and that’s something we all share. That’s where compassion comes in. It’s loving each other not despite our flaws, but because of them. Not for any ulterior motives, but simply for the sake of love. Not in pursuit of perfection or out of pity- once more in the eloquent words of Krista Tippet, “compassion can’t be reduced to sainthood any more than it can be reduced to pity.”
St. Eugene De Mazenod.
Catholic Online, Catholic Online, www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=346. Accessed 27 Mar. 2017.
But what exactly does sainthood mean? Is Sainthood a synonym for perfection? Growing up in the Catholic faith, saints are something I’m very familiar with. Since coming to college, I’ve had the opportunity to take a more personal ownership of my faith, and I’ve gained an even greater appreciation for saints and their life stories, and the most incredible part about them is their sinner past. It’s what makes them relatable, and makes the goal for us all to become Saints seem a lot more realistic. The imperfections of the Saints and their troubled pasts are what give their great faith and devotion to God so much meaning. So I don’t believe that Sainthood is a synonym for perfection, but rather for selflessly serving God despite the imperfections we all share.
St. Eugene De Mazenod was a French priest who went through seminary in France despite the perils of doing so during the upheaval of the French Revolution, which was going on at the time. He went on to found the missionary organization called the Oblates 0f Mary Immaculate, of which Pope Pius XI later said, “are the specialists of difficult missions.” Additionally, St. Eugene grew up amid a tumultuous family life, which is why he is the patron saint of dysfunctional families. Difficult missions? Dysfunctional families? Sounds like a guy that would fit right in to this project!
Novena prayer to St. Eugene de Mazenod:
St. Eugene, Patron Saint of Dysfunctional Families, come to the aid of all families who suffer brokenness, misunderstanding, separation or divorce. You know well these difficulties and trials because of the separation and divorce of your own parents. May all who suffer these family hardships seek your intercession to discern more clearly how the light of Jesus Christ can help them in the midst of their darkness and despair. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen
Address of the Holy Father at the Prayer Vigil for the Festival of Families
Pope Francis. 26 Sept. 2015, Philadelphia, B. Franklin Parkway, The Holy See,w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2015/september/ documents/papa-francesco_20150926_usa-festa-famiglie.html.
In September of 2015, the coolest country in the world was graced with a visit from the coolest man in the world. Jorge Mario Bergoglio, A.K.A. Pope Francis A.K.A. Papa Frankie A.K.A. the People’s Pope came to the United States to participate in the Eighth World Meeting of Families in Philadelphia.* True to his nature, he met with the marginalized of American society- the mentally and physically disabled, the poor, the homeless. In addition, he gave a series of talks about the importance of the family. In my search for sources, this speech was a treasure trove.
Pope Francis is able to explain in a concise address exactly what I have been striving to convey throughout this whole project. He says that “the family is the living symbol of the loving plan of which the Father once dreamed,” implying while we strive to achieve God’s example of a perfect family, it is a goal that is impossible for us to achieve. This idea is further explained in the quote below:
“Perfect families do not exist. This must not discourage us. Quite the opposite. Love is something we learn; love is something we live; love grows as it is “forged” by the concrete situations which each particular family experiences. Love is born and constantly develops amid lights and shadows. Love can flourish in men and women who try not to make conflict the last word, but rather a new opportunity. An opportunity to seek help, an opportunity to question how we need to improve, an opportunity to discover the God who is with us and never abandons us. This is a great legacy that we can give to our children, a very good lesson: we make mistakes, yes; we have problems, yes. But we know that that is not really what counts. We know that mistakes, problems and conflicts are an opportunity to draw closer to others, to draw closer to God.”
Pope Francis doesn’t fail to throw in the age-old familial advice: don’t go to bed angry. He also mentions how we must care for our grandparents in a special way, because they are a family’s memory, and without them we cannot move forward into our future. We have been entreated with a mission:
Let us care for the family. Let us defend the family, because there our future is at stake.
That seems impossible! The family must be defended not only from external societal pressures, but also from conflicts and disagreements on the inside. How, then, could one possibly go about such a difficult mission? Good ol’ Papa Frankie has given us the answer to this question as well:
In families, there are difficulties, but those difficulties are resolved by love. Hatred doesn’t resolve any difficulty. Divided hearts do not resolve difficulties. Only love is capable of resolving difficulty.
Pope Francis didn’t say it would be easy; in fact, he confirmed the opposite. But he says it’s important, and who am I to argue with the Pope?
*Due to the incredible power and simple beauty of Pope Francis’s words, this entry will have more direct quotes than normal, because to over-paraphrase the Pope should be a crime worth excommunication.
Secretariat
Wallace, Randall, director. Walt Disney Pictures, 2010.
I used to have a strict no-sad-movies policy that drove my family crazy on movie night. When I watch a movie, I want to cry because I’m laughing so hard, not because I’m sad. But then my dad made me watch Dead Poet’s Society, which left me thoroughly depressed but ridiculously inspired. Since then, while I still prefer comedies, I have relaxed my no-tolerance policy, but only for movies that are worth it.
When I watched Secretariat, I almost quit upon discovering the opening scene was a funeral. It also didn’t take me long to realize the similarities between the family in the movie and my own family were eerie. For example, Chris Chenery, the grandfather, has a big desk where he handled his racehorse business. The wall behind it is decorated by pictures of successful racehorses, and he had a big desk calendar front and center on his workspace where wrote important dates and horse information. My grandpa has an almost identical setup. Later in the movie, Mr. Chenery has a stroke, exactly like my grandpa did. The crazy similarities between the movie family and my own hit a little to close to home, and it felt a little bit like I was watching my own grandmother’s funeral at the beginning of the movie. I’m so glad I kept watching, though, because I ended up with with a new film on my top ten list.
This movie is connected to my family in more ways than the similarities to their lives. Seth and Arthur “Bull” Hancock, the father/son duo who believed in Secretariat against all odds and who helped him onto victory, are not just movie characters, but real life people- people my grandfather actually knows from horse racing circles. It’s weird to think that a man that my grandpa has had real life conversations with was portrayed in a Disney movie by a well-known actor. It makes Grandada seem like a celebrity-by-association.
Penny Chenery is the main character who goes back to her childhood home to save the family racehorse business by believing in “Big Red,” otherwise known as Secretariat, even when others were ready to give up on him. He later become arguably the greatest racehorse in the history of the sport.
Penny’s determination to do what she knows is right and save her family is so inspiring. After being pressured to pull Secretariat out of the race, she said, “I don’t care how many times they say no. I don’t care how many times they say I can’t do it. I am not giving up. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in regret. We are going to see that horse run, and we are going to spend the rest of our days rejoicing.”
I can relate to Penny’s determination to keep her family together and to stubbornly insist on believing in someone whom others had already given up on. She is a character that I aspire to emulate in my own life. Though my grandparents’ racehorse boarding business isn’t in any immediate jeopardy, their desire for a loving, united, compassionate family is, and though I, like Penny, might be highly unqualified and seem a little bit crazy, I intend to work towards that goal for the rest of my life.
In horse racing, the name of the game is what’s in your blood. The worth of a horse is almost entirely dependent on who its parents were. I often doubt myself, and let my faults, imperfections, and mistakes discourage me from believing in myself. But all it takes is a little bit of reflection on where I come from to remind me of who I am.
My ancestors have lived in Kentucky for generation after generation. They remained united through the Civil War, they stayed together through both World Wars, they made it through the Great Depression, and they are still there. We are a stubborn, determined people who have survived so much. After our ancestors have been through so much to get us to where we are, I refuse to let anything divide us. That’s who I am, and it’s all because of who they were. As they say in Secretariat, “Great colts come from great sires.”
