(HOST) Commentator Peter Gilbert tells of a mystery in his family that was resolved recently, after decades of doubt.
(GILBERT) No one seems to remember precisely when it started, but it was about thirty-five years ago. My brother, Ken, was in college, or perhaps had just graduated. That year, he got a Christmas card, postmarked from Chicago. It was signed with the made-up name Ken used to use instead of, say, Joe Schmoe, when he was telling a joke or story.
The next Christmas, a similar card came, mailed from the same area of Chicago and signed in the same handwriting. And again the year after that, and so on – for over thirty years. When Ken was married, when his children were born, he got cards. When he moved from one city to another, the cards were addressed to the proper address.
But who actually was sending the cards? He phoned his high school buddies, Ralph, and then John, but they denied it. He asked everyone he could think of. Repeatedly. At a high school reunion, he asked 500 assembled classmates. No luck.
One evening Ken and his wife were having a heart-to-heart about things that mattered a lot to them. She talked about some of the issues and questions that she would like to understand better before she or loved ones passed away. My brother wanted to know, "Who ‘s been sending me those cards?"
Well, he found out last week at a family celebration of our parents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary.
Who’d been sending him the cards? Our parents.
Over the years they had had a Vermont neighbor sign a dozen cards or more at the same time. (Actually, over the years, two people had signed the cards – and my brother noticed the change in handwriting.) And each year, they sent one card to a friend in Chicago, who then re-mailed it from the same part of town.
My brother was delighted – delighted to learn who’d been pulling his chain all these years, delighted that it turned out to be our folks. They decided to tell him for two reasons: first, they both wanted the pleasure of witnessing his reaction. Second, they decided that enough was enough; it had been fun – for them and him. It had been good family shenanigans, but it shouldn’t become obsessive. Time to enjoy the joke — together.
Over the years probably hundreds of friends knew who’d been sending the cards, but, amazingly, no one spilled the beans. As was the case recently when the plot of the final Harry Potter book stayed secret, there’s a time to keep secrets — and a time to share them with others, ideally with love and laughter.
And that is what my folks – and I – have just done.
Peter Gilbert is executive director of the Vermont Humanities Council.