Black Sheep

I come by it naturally I suppose.

It starts with My Granddaddy Carver whom I worship just like his other 56 grandchildren ... he has the uncanny gift of making each of us feel the most loved of all ... when he and I are digging underneath my great Aunt Bessie's cabin in the north Georgia mountains.

A small four room wooden structure ... living room with fireplace which is where the bed is to stay warm ... a second bedroom for those who prefer sleeping where it's cold ... an anteroom which mostly collects stuff ... and a kitchen with a porch with a well.

The outhouse is out back.

I'm spending a week with him and Grandma cleaning after Aunt Bessie died and we're on our stomachs in the dirt pulling things out from under the cabin ... bottles, old guns, trunks ... when I put my hands on a Banjo.

"Whoa!" I exclaim holding the hand carved piece of wood with a nails to hold the strings in place,
"Where did this come from?"

Granddad smiles, frowns, laughs again and explains, "Lawdamighty ... it must be Uncle Cicero'."

"Who?"

Not liking to talk about unpleasant subjects, he falls silent.

"He was the black sheep of the family," my Grandmother explains wiping dirt from her face. "But everybody loved him!"

At the time I'm in College so I know everything!

Cicero was ancient Rome's greatest orator, introduced Greek thinking to logical thought and wrote a lot of letters.

"My great Uncle is named after Cicero?"

"Your great great Uncle," Dranddaddy replies.

"He was cool huh?"

"He was something," he laughs with far away eyes.

Years later my Aunt June and Uncle Tommy find an old tin photograph of Cicero, smoking a cigarette, sitting in a horse drawn buggy with a hot Babe under a giant hat flashing an incredible smile.

Cicero looks cocky and happy ... the two appear to have that giddy look after good sex.

I love the picture!

The Banjo hangs proudly in our house!

After Granddaddy died, I'm sitting with Grandma and asked, "Tell me about Uncle Cicero."

Smiling, covering her mouth to laugh with a white handkerchief with blue eyes dancing, she says, "He was the black sheep of the family. Ira didn't like to talk about it."

I nod.

"The two of you would have really gotten along," she laughs before hugging me.