{"id":14904,"date":"2018-04-13T17:35:48","date_gmt":"2018-04-13T21:35:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=14904"},"modified":"2019-03-27T14:10:36","modified_gmt":"2019-03-27T18:10:36","slug":"return-to-vincennes-blood-and-kin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=14904","title":{"rendered":"Return to Vincennes: Blood and Kin…"},"content":{"rendered":"

photo-2-small.JPG<\/a><\/p>\n

You can’t go back home to your family, back home to your childhood,
\n\u2026back home to the father you have lost and have been looking for,…
\nback home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed
\neverlasting but which are changing all the time–back home to the
\nescapes of Time and Memory.<\/p>\n

—Thomas Wolfe
\n_________________<\/p>\n

It was around a year ago, I think, when the suggestion first was made. Maybe even a little before that. It came from my cousin, Kathy Yoder Barbush. She\u2019s from Mom\u2019s side of the family. Those people my father cut off from us, because he didn\u2019t want us to be tainted by the contact. The Yoder blood, that half of us we were taught to ignore and renounce. And when you hear a voice coming from that part of your past, well, I\u2019ve learned. You stop and you listen. <\/p>\n

Kathy messaged me, back whenever it was. She asked, because she worked there, at Vincennes University. Has been there pretty much since I was a student, way back. The University was having an Open House in the spring of 2018. Would I consider coming and speaking at the Humanities Department? I mean, being I was an author and all, with a bestseller under my belt. She thought VU would be happy to host me. She was pretty sure, in fact. <\/p>\n

Well, what do you say to such a thing? Would I consider going and speaking at the first University I ever walked into as a student? It was a lifetime ago, when that happened. It\u2019s always an honor, to be asked to return. Of course I would, I told her. I would be more than honored. Just give me some lead time, if and when it happens. And we left it at that. I kind of forgot about it, to be honest. Things like that mostly never develop anyway, I thought to myself. <\/p>\n

But this \u201cthing like that\u201d did develop and firm right up, right along, since early this year. And that\u2019s why I walked into Enterprise in New Holland a few Saturdays back, to pick up a rental. I had negotiated with Kathy. Well, I had told her what I wanted, and she had negotiated with the Humanities Department there at VU, apparently. Travel expenses, including a rental car and a room at the University Guest House. And a few bucks, for a \u201cspeaker\u2019s fee.\u201d We got it together, the Agreement. And I stopped to pick up my car on the day before Easter. I planned to spend that Holy Day this year on the road to the Midwest. <\/p>\n

I\u2019m irritated at Enterprise, I\u2019ll say right up front. Beyond irritated, actually. They made me mad recently with their pious PC proclamations. Stop telling me what to think. Just shut up about politics and rent me a car when I need one. I don\u2019t know why more big companies don\u2019t have the sense to do a simple thing like that. Stay out of politics. I vowed that I would not rent from Enterprise again unless there was no better option. So when the time came, I checked around a bit. The local Enterprise is just a few blocks away. So very convenient. I can leave my Jeep right on their lot while I\u2019m gone. And I rationalized to myself. Vincennes University is paying for the car, anyway. So it\u2019s no money out of my pocket. The convenience outweighed my irritation, this time. So I went ahead, this time. I guess we\u2019ll see what next time brings. <\/p>\n

So there I was that morning, at Enterprise to pick up my car. I asked the nice young man if there was a Charger on the lot. As usual. And as usual, at least lately, he shook his head. No. They had a Toyota Camry ready for me. A 2018 model, almost new. He figured I\u2019d like it. And then the young Enterprise man asked me what the rental car people always ask when you\u2019re picking up your wheels. Do I want any insurance for the car, for this trip? It was only $25.00 per day, for a total of $100.00. They always slide it in so smoothly, and they always make it sound so easy. Just cough up the extra money. It\u2019s really not that painful, for the peace of mind you\u2019ll feel. That\u2019s what they\u2019re saying, when they\u2019re upselling you. <\/p>\n

And I shook my head, like I always do. Nah. My Allstate coverage kicks in. But then I thought, all of a sudden. What if I had an accident? Yeah, Allstate would kick in, after my deductible. And I just had that claim, back before Christmas, when Big Blue spun like a top on the ice. My first insurance claim, ever. And now I stood there, thinking. I had never, never before taken the extra insurance with any rental car. But VU was paying for my car. That included insurance. So I changed my mind, right there. Yeah, I said. I\u2019m getting reimbursed for my rental expenses, by the University where I\u2019m going to speak. Yes. Let\u2019s put on the extra insurance. The young man smiled. A sale. An extra. He had done it. He showed me where to initial that I was purchasing the insurance. I took my paperwork, parked Amish Black at the back of the lot, and got into my new Toyota Camry. It took a minute to figure out all the glitzy controls. The car all but drove itself, from the looks of it. <\/p>\n

And by 6:30 the next morning, I was on the road. All my bags were packed and loaded. I had packed a little heavy. It was the first time in a while that I was going out to speak at a place like this. The first time since I quit drinking back in August. The first time since I started to groom up a bit and take a little pride in how I look. And at home, I played it out in my head. This shirt with that tie and these pants. And there was this other possibility, too. Round and round I went, with my thinking. And I ended up just filling my garment bag with a number of different colored shirts, and a jacket and a vest. And a couple of pairs of shoes. I\u2019d figure it out when the day came, I figured. And I headed west on the turnpike with my bags and a box with a few dozen copies of my book. You always take a few of those along, wherever you go. That\u2019s what I\u2019ve learned. The Camry hummed along, almost like a Charger, I thought. It sure had the power. It\u2019s bigger and completely redesigned, the new Camry. And it was giving the Charger a run for the money, in my head. <\/p>\n

And I thought about things, as I pushed along the road that day. I thought about those days of long ago, when I was a student at Vincennes University. Mulled over those days, as the miles flowed along. But I thought of other things, too. I thought of Kathy, my cousin who worked at VU. And how she had gotten me in to speak. I thought of her and her family. <\/p>\n

Mom had a number of brothers and sisters. Most of them were known to us. Most of them were Plain Mennonite, Block Church people who drove cars and farmed with tractors. But Mom also had two siblings that we never knew much about. We rarely if ever heard their names spoken. Mom\u2019s younger sister, Sarah, and her youngest brother, Joe. Those two were so far from the world I grew up in that they might as well have been on another planet. <\/p>\n

Sarah married a Catholic man with the last name of McGuire. And that right there was enough to make Dad make sure we never had anything to do with her, as long as he had any control over who we saw or didn\u2019t. And Mom\u2019s youngest brother Joe, well, his was a tragic story. The man was a hard drinker, addicted to alcohol. I know a lot more about how that is than I\u2019d like to. He married a girl named Lydia Ann, who was from the Amish community in Berne, Indiana. I know absolutely nothing about their lives when they were Amish and young married. I don\u2019t know when Joe started drinking, or if he always drank. Anyway, he and Lydia left the Amish with their children. Several daughters, and at least one son. And not long after they left the Amish, they separated, Joe and Lydia did. Then they divorced. The classic fodder for Amish sermons. See how it goes, when you leave? This kind of thing happens when you go out into \u201cthe world.\u201d I know a little bit about how it is when you\u2019re fodder for Amish sermons for reasons like that. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s impossible for me to tell how little I knew of Aunt Sarah or Joe and Lydia\u2019s family, growing up. I can\u2019t remember hearing the names of any of them, except in passing, maybe from my older siblings. Mom had a brother named Joe, who was completely English. And divorced, yet. They were pariahs, Sarah and Joe and Lydia, an embarrassment to the Wagler family name. They were Yoders, from Mom\u2019s side. They were judged and reviled in my father\u2019s world. And utterly scorned. It would take a long and broken road for me to travel to where this part of my family was. <\/p>\n

The Camry swooshed along, like a rocket ship. The young Enterprise guy was right. I was impressed with the car from the first. When you had to back up, there was a camera on the dash that flashed to life with an amazingly clear live feed of what was behind you. And when you put the thing in cruise control, it wouldn\u2019t get too close to the vehicle ahead. It slowed down on its own to the speed of the car in front, about a thousand feet back. Which was a little unhandy, because you had to get close to pass. By the end of the trip, I had figured out the car\u2019s foibles. I would rent a Camry again. Of course, I\u2019ll always happily drive a Charger, too. If it came to a choice between the two, well, the Charger looks just a little classier. <\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t figure there would be a lot of traffic on the roads on Easter Sunday. And there wasn\u2019t. From the turnpike, I got on I-70 West. On and on, through Ohio into Indiana. It\u2019s a long old stretch, out through there. By late afternoon, I was approaching Indianapolis. And here came a text from Kathy. She had the key to get me into my guest room. She would meet me at VU. But she was at her Mom\u2019s house, there in Vincennes. And they had cooked up a big meal. There would be a plate for me when I got there. They wanted to feed me. OK, I texted back. I\u2019ll let you know when I get close. And I thought about it. I was tired, from traveling all day. I didn\u2019t know these people, Kathy\u2019s Mom and sister. I wasn\u2019t sure about walking into the house of a stranger to get fed. Still. They wouldn\u2019t have invited me if they didn\u2019t want me there. That\u2019s what I told myself as the Camry pulsed through Indianapolis, then on west for an hour or more. Then south on State Road 41. Vencennes was coming right up. <\/p>\n

It was a long time ago, when I first walked the streets of Vincennes as a student. Next year, it will be thirty years. There have been so many miles since that time. So many roads, some of them hard, broken roads. But still. I always feel a little sliver of anticipation and excitement slice through me when I approach that town. It was a big deal to me, when I first walked onto the campus at VU. A big deal. And time has distanced me from those days. The lights have dimmed a little. But that sliver of excitement always stirs inside when I return. <\/p>\n

I texted Kathy. I\u2019m getting close. She texted back. I\u2019ll be waiting outside on the porch. And minutes later, I pulled up to the little house where her mother lives, just off Hart Street. The skies had darkened. A few random drops of rain were spitting down. I parked on the edge of the yard and got out. Kathy walked out. We greeted each other and hugged. I followed her into the house. And there I was greeted by total strangers. Kathy\u2019s husband, Andrew Barbush. Her mother, Lydia. Her older sister, Laura. And her (Kathy’s) teenage son, Avann. They sat there in the dining room. I shook hands with all of them. They seemed excited and eager to see me. I took a seat at the table, and we talked. <\/p>\n

I had not eaten all day. I\u2019m still eating only my One Meal a Day (OMAD). And I wasn\u2019t sure how it would go. I had not traveled much at all since starting OMAD last November. And it worked out great, I gotta say. All that day, I had sipped on water and black coffee. At precisely 5:00 PM, I swallowed my daily Superfood vitamin pill. That\u2019s always the first thing I take, to \u201cbreak my fast.\u201d And now these people, these strangers, my cousins from my mother\u2019s side, now they sat with me around that table. They had eaten earlier. But they asked. Would I like a plate of food? They had ham, and all the fixings. You bet I\u2019d love that, I said. Laura dashed off to the kitchen. The rest of us sat there, just talking and catching up. Well, maybe getting acquainted is a better term. We sat there, getting acquainted. These people are sure easy to talk to, I thought to myself. <\/p>\n

And soon Laura brought the food from the kitchen, a large plate loaded with sliced ham, potatoes, corn, greens. I was hungry, from not having eaten all day. I grabbed a fork and shoveled in bites as we talked. And I asked about their history, these people from my mother\u2019s family. Joe Yoder\u2019s ex-wife and children and a grandson. We talked like old friends who had known each other for a long time. It turned out I had met Joe once, at a cookout, probably back in 1986. Right after I had fled Bloomfield after breaking up with Sarah. I remember that evening faintly. I remember Joe, too, but I can\u2019t recall his face. I remember hearing when he died, decades ago, at age fifty-eight. He “drank himself to death,” is what they said. I remember thinking. He’s a stranger to me. But he was my uncle. Here, in this room, here was his family. They were English, as I was. They had seen hard roads, as I had. Completely separated from each other, we had somehow found each other on this day. It\u2019s funny, how that works sometimes.<\/p>\n

I settled in and devoured my food. It was delicious. We talked hard and fast as I ate. I asked Lydia if she had a copy of my book. She had seen it, but she didn\u2019t have one. So I walked out to the Camry and fetched a copy. I signed it to her. She smiled and smiled and thanked me. Kathy then rode with me over to VU to show me around and to get me settled in the guest house. We cruised around campus first. The place has expanded vastly, at least in buildings, since my time there. The old Humanities Building looked the same, though. And the parking lot where I used to park, it was about the same, too. We drove down to the river, where VU had cleaned up the banks and created a small park. Heavy rains had raised the river, and it was spitting rain that night, too. <\/p>\n

And then I drove over to the VU Guest House, where the University offers rooms to VIP guests. Like me, I thought, and chuckled. Kathy was eager to check out the house, as she had not seen the inside of it. It\u2019s a beautiful place, very tastefully furnished with a full kitchen, dining room, living room, and about four or five independent guest rooms upstairs. I was given the key to the Red Skelton room. I guess he was a native of Vincennes, so that\u2019s why my room was furnished with many photos of a clown. Kathy helped me carry in my bags, and then I took her back to her mother\u2019s house. And before too late that night, I settled into my comfortable bed in the Red Skelton room. <\/p>\n

Monday. Moving along, here. The day came at me. There was an old friend I wanted to look up in town. I called him, and he gave me his address. We had connected on Facebook before I came, so he knew I was around. I left my cozy guest house and headed out to find a cup of black coffee, and gas up. Might as well get that done. Parts of Vincennes are a little run down, I thought as I pulled into a raggedy station. I forget the brand, some sort of Midwestern logo. I filled my tank and punched the button for my receipt. The decrepit little printer made squeaking noises, but failed to spit out any paper. Ah, come on, I groaned. You piece of junk. I was pretty irritated. <\/p>\n

But I needed coffee anyway. So I walked in and poured a cup, strong and black. The attendant, a large busty blond woman, greeted me with a raspy smile. One cup of coffee, I said. And I need a receipt for Pump 4. She nodded, and printed the receipt and handed it to me. Thanks, I said. I owe you for the coffee. She smiled at me again, a big bright smile. \u201cAh, honey,\u201d she said. She was a smoker or had been at one time. \u201cTell you what. Since you had to come in for your receipt, the coffee\u2019s on us.\u201d My irritation flashed out the window, whoosh, just like that. I smiled back at her. Thank you, I said. I appreciate that. And I did. It was a classy and cool thing to do. I thought happy thoughts as I drove away. It\u2019s amazing how a simple little act like that can affect your frame of mind. <\/p>\n

Twenty-nine years ago, I was an excited and eager student at Vincennes University. Before getting there, I had asked the University people. I need a room to board in, during the week. I\u2019ll go back to my home in Daviess for the weekends. I don\u2019t need an apartment or anything fancy. Just a room. And they had very kindly connected me with a guy who lived across town. He had a third floor attic room for rent, for a little bit of next to nothing. One fifty a month, or some such thing. I went and looked and rented the little attic room on the spot. And over the two-year window when attending VU, I boarded in my little room. I got to be good friends with the landlord. His name was Lyndon Phillippe. He was divorced and lived alone in the house with his adult son. There was room for one or two more. I had not seen the man since graduating from VU in 1991. And this morning, the morning of my free coffee, I was going to his home to visit. <\/p>\n

We had connected on Facebook, back a number of years ago, Lyndon and me. He knew about my book. We had communicated a few times via instant message. He had wanted to come hear me speak this time, but he let me know up front that he probably wouldn\u2019t be able to make it. Well, I said. If you can\u2019t make it to hear me, I\u2019ll come to you. And that morning, I went. I parked along the street outside the house he now lives in, about a block away from the one where I had rented that attic room. I walked up and knocked. The door opened. I would have recognized him, I think. He\u2019s not that tall, and a little heavy set. His face looked about the same, just older. He greeted me and spoke my name and smiled. I smiled back and spoke his. We gripped hands, as we had not done since I told him good-bye in 1991. <\/p>\n

He\u2019s retired now, and he walks with a cane. I followed him inside. His house was cluttered, like it had always been. Stuff stacked about. Just like my house. I was instantly comfortable and at home. (At least those two shedding cats were gone. I asked about them, and he told me the details of the demise of each. I murmured sympathetically.) He sat in his favorite old worn armchair and I sat on the couch. And we caught up from almost thirty years, me and my old friend. He told me about his family, his son and daughter and their families. He showed me pictures of the grandkids on his computer. And we talked about knives and guns and pickup trucks and smoking pipes and such, the stuff men talk of when they hang out. <\/p>\n

I stayed a while, over an hour. As we wound down, Lyndon handed me three treasures as gifts. Two Erik Nording freehand briar pipes, and a handmade hunting knife he had picked up decades ago at a swap meet. The pipes were works of art, the knife beautifully crafted. I tried to protest, a little weakly, but he waved me off. He wanted me to have these things. I thanked him and took the gifts. I will always treasure them, I told him. I signed his copy of my book, then. And I told him I\u2019d send him a copy of my new book when it came out. He saw me to the door, and we shook hands again. And then I left. <\/p>\n

So far, so good, here in Vincennes. Tuesday would be the big day. I had two speeches to make at the auditorium. But this was Monday. And Kathy had asked me. She worked at the Writing Center, there in the Humanities Building. A place where students came, to work on their writing. And she wondered. Would I consider coming by on Monday sometime, and give a talk about writing? Of course, I said. I\u2019d like that. I strolled into the Center early, around 2:30. Kathy was sitting at her station. A few students sat about. I met Tyson, Kathy\u2019s coworker, who was the tech guy. He would introduce me at my main speeches on Tuesday. But for now, we were here, a dozen people or so. Including a couple of VU professors. English teachers. Right at three, Kathy stood behind the little podium on the table, and introduced me. There was polite clapping as I stood to take the floor. <\/p>\n

Writing. How does one speak of what it is to write? I told the students a little bit of how it went, back in 2007, when I started writing seriously. How I started posting on my blog after my marriage blew up. How I had never pushed myself out there, how the book came on its own, from me sitting at my corner desk and writing. And I told them. You write how you talk. At least I do. That\u2019s why you see fragments in my book. Incomplete sentences that an English teacher would mark all up in red. Still. You speak from your heart. Don\u2019t pay all that much attention to the rules. Just like you don\u2019t when you talk. That\u2019s what works for me, what has worked for me. I took questions, then, and expounded on what I think writing is. I wasn\u2019t sure there was enough interest to keep me going for an hour. But the time whooshed right by, and four o\u2019clock came. Time to wind down. If anyone has a book, I\u2019ll gladly sign it. And they brought their copies. One down, I thought to myself. Two to go. Tomorrow. Two speeches. <\/p>\n

We went out to eat, then. Kathy and her husband Andrew, and a few friends. At a nice little pub on the other side of town. I parked and walked up to the front door, and there was an old familiar face. One of my old professors at VU, Dr. Bernard Verkamp. The man spent his career teaching philosophy at Vincennes. I took a class he taught in all four of my semesters at VU. We had become good friends before I graduated. I knew he had retired, and was spending his time researching and writing. He looked about the same, just a bit older. As we all are, I suppose. I walked up and greeted him, smiling. We shook hands. It was a pleasant surprise to see my old friend. He\u2019s still looking spry. \u201cCall me Bernard,\u201d he insisted. I laughed. It just don\u2019t seem right, I said. To me, you are and will always be Dr. Verkamp. My professor and friend. <\/p>\n

We were seated around a large table. Kathy told me to order what I wanted. VU was paying for my meal. So I ordered an appetizer, a steak and a couple of side dishes. No wine or whiskey, though. Just water to drink, with lemon. Dr. Verkamp sat across the table from me, and we instantly launched into a discussion of lots of things. The man weaves his philosophical thinking into every conversation. He asked how I have been doing, and what I\u2019m thinking these days. Umm, I said. I am an anarchist in the classical meaning of the word. Not a black-clad thug, breaking windows and rioting. That\u2019s what the media wants you to think anarchists are. In truth, we are the most peaceful of all peoples. We simply don\u2019t believe in having anyone rule over us. No ruler. No king. (We do not dispute about the qualifications of a master; we will have no master. Cato\u2019s Letters, No. 23) We stand by the non-aggression principle, or NAP. All aggressive force is always wrong, no matter where it comes from, the individual or the state. All defensive force is always justified, no matter who or what it\u2019s against. I will leave you alone, always, to live in peace. But if you come at me to hurt me or mine, I will hit back at you so hard your head will spin. And you might die. <\/p>\n

And I told him. It\u2019s bred into who I am, from my Amish heritage. You never, never, never trust the state. Never. My people were hunted down like animals and killed by the state, the government. It is a vile, false idol. I will never bow my knee to it. I tend to get a little worked up, talking about it. The state is a monster. Dr. Verkamp nodded and looked interested. He wasn\u2019t all that dubious, even. He asked what my religion is these days. I\u2019m in the Reformed camp, I told him. A Calvinist, right across the board. It\u2019s the freest thing I\u2019ve found. He didn\u2019t seem shocked by that, either. I don\u2019t think the man would have been shocked at anything I might have said. He was always calm, that way. Like a good philosopher should be. <\/p>\n

The food came, then, and we all feasted. I was hungry for my one meal. The steak was excellently done. And I even took dessert, a large slice of moist carrot cake and coffee. As we parted, Dr. Verkamp mentioned that he planned to come hear my talk the next day. Oh, boy, I thought. Now I\u2019ll be judged by my old teacher. It was good, though. I was honored that he would take the time. <\/p>\n

And it was back to my room at the Guest House, then. The Red Skelton room. A cold rain drizzled down. The weather had been unsettled all the way across the country. And I settled in to sleep again. Tomorrow was Tuesday. The big day, the day I had come for. And soon enough, it dawned. A clear morning. The sun shone nice and warm. I looked at my shirts and ties and pants. And settled for a nice white shirt, red power tie, and black dress pants. A patterned brownish jacket and black shoes. Pretty spiffy, I thought. I then stopped at McDonald\u2019s for a good cup of black coffee. And by ten or so, I was in the Humanities Building on the VU campus. The Shircliff Building. That\u2019s the name of the place where I took most of my classes as a student. I strolled into the auditorium, carrying my box of books. My friend Tyson was bustling about onstage, getting ready. There was a large wired podium off in the corner, but it looked like it was anchored to the floor. I asked Tyson. Where\u2019s my podium? He shrugged. He didn\u2019t know for sure. Eventually, we figured it out. We brought up a white folding table and set a small wooden podium on top of it. It was the right height, and comfortable to stand behind. Tyson allowed he could scare up a nice blue cloth to cover the table. And off he went to find it. <\/p>\n

Kathy bustled in and out of the room, too. She had located a couple of mannequins and dressed one as an Amish woman, complete with bonnet, the other as an Amish man, complete with barn door pants and galluses. And a straw hat. The “man” wore a straw hat. I was impressed. Good backdrop, right there, I thought. The minutes ticked by as the time for my talk crept closer and closer. And soon, people began drifting in and seating themselves. The auditorium would be far from full. But there would be at least a few dozen students and other listeners. Kathy had found a short clip online that had been filmed about me back in 2012<\/a>. The 700 Club people had stopped by for over a day. They had planned to run a short documentary on me and my book. Well. They got started with the film, but they quit about six minutes in. What is done is very beautiful and professional. But the clip just stops, cold. And Kathy had texted me the night before. Would it be OK if they ran that short clip as an introduction, before I spoke? Of course, I said. That would be great. I knew the clip was good stuff, but I also figured I would have to be onstage for at least six fewer minutes if they ran it. So it was a good deal all around, I thought. <\/p>\n

Dr. Verkamp strolled in and took a seat toward the back, on the right side of the room, facing the stage. I waved at him. Other people, too, filed in and got seated. And promptly at eleven, Tyson walked onto the stage. After a brief but very complimentary introduction, he started the short six minute film. And there was my face, much larger than life, on the large wall screen behind the stage. After the film, Tyson walked on and said, \u201cAnd now, here is Ira Wagler.\u201d The people clapped as I walked to join Tyson. We shook hands, and I walked up behind the podium on the table, now covered with a nice blue cloth. I had laid out all my stuff, my notes, my glasses, and a book. And I had stacked a pile of books on each side of the table, facing out. It looked good. I held the mic and looked out over the room. Amazingly, I didn\u2019t feel all that nervous. I began to speak. <\/p>\n

Thank you all for being here. It is a huge honor for me to be invited to speak by Vincennes University. And right then, the mic went blank. Just shut off. Tyson walked back up and we fiddled with it a bit. It worked again, until I had spoken about two words. Then it blanked out again. I looked out over the room. It wasn\u2019t that big, really. I come from the Amish, where the preachers have to shout across vast rooms filled with people, to speak their sermons. So I set the mic back on its stand. And I stood there behind my podium, behind my table, and just spoke to the people with the voice I had. <\/p>\n

\"Ira<\/a><\/p>\n

I have a fairly basic spiel, when I get up to speak in public about my book. I give a very condensed version of the story in my book, especially the parts about Rumspringa and leaving home. The talks are usually just a little different in details here and there, because there are so many bunny trails one can meander down. One day, it\u2019s this trail. The next day, that one over there. And there are always new trails to find, too. I have a very rough outline to guide and nudge me along. Otherwise, it\u2019s free talk, almost. And that\u2019s what I did that day in that first speech at Vincennes. I looked back and remembered a good deal about my experience at the school, and wove that in, too. I\u2019ve talked before dozens and dozens of groups. And it always goes better when I\u2019m relaxed. Well, I was relaxed that day. <\/p>\n

I went a bit overlong, though, because I thought the speech was supposed to last 90 minutes, all told. So I was geared for that. Tyson managed to politely signal and shut me down at just a little over an hour. Fifty minutes was more what they\u2019re looking for. It was all good, though. I was very willing to shut down. And I signed a few books that people brought by, and sold a few of my own, too, there right after. I mingled for as long as anyone wanted to. Then I headed back to my room to rest a little. The skies were dark and dangerous when I parked and walked into my room. And soon, I heard the hard thumping on the roof of the house. What in the world? I pulled back a curtain and looked out the window. Great white clumps of ice were raining down, hard. They bounced off the pavement and they bounced off cars. Including my Camry, sitting out there all unprotected. <\/p>\n

A quick little bunny trail, here, about another gas station. I had seen the sign, when I came in along sixth street earlier that day. At Huck\u2019s. A big banner out front. Livers and Gizzards: $3.98. It made my mouth water, just the thought. And that afternoon I broke my fast a half hour early. At 4:30. I had to speak at six. So I thought, eat a little early and get that food settled in before. I drove out to Huck\u2019s and sauntered in, all dressed up for my speech. A black vest with black pants and a white Steampunk shirt with blue dots and a dark blue tie with stripes. Which is better than a striped shirt with a striped tie going opposite. Well, according to some people, it is. Not me, necessarily. I get a lot of flack from certain friends about wearing stripes with stripes. Striped shirt, solid tie. That\u2019s what they keep hollering at me. I just smile at them. I like opposite stripes. Just not that day. I can wear about whatever and get away with it. People expect a writer to be a little weird, dress a little different. So that perception helps. <\/p>\n

And that was a bunny trail in a bunny trail, right there. I sauntered into Huck\u2019s, all dressed up, and asked for an order of Livers and Gizzards. The young attendant didn\u2019t think that strange at all. He piled my little container high, as far up as he could stack. I paid the guy, took my precious cargo and walked over and sat at the side bar to eat. Sprinkle a little mustard on those fried chicken innards, and eat them with a plastic fork. That\u2019s what I did. That little meal right there I wouldn\u2019t trade for the finest steak and caviar, if those two things are even served on the same table. You can\u2019t find fried food like this in Lancaster County. They\u2019re too stuck up and blue-blooded. I enjoyed every bite of my feast, right down to the last crumb. <\/p>\n

And soon enough, I was back at the campus, getting ready for my second speech that day. I now know a little bit how a preacher feels, if he has to preach at two services on the same day. I mean, I was talking about the same things both times. Just a little different trail, maybe. Kathy had told me, early on. My Aunt Sarah was planning on coming to hear me speak. She wasn\u2019t sure which one. We had to see what the weather brought. The weather was bad through much of Tuesday. But by evening, it had cleared. And they arrived together, the people from Mom\u2019s family. Aunt Sarah. And Joe\u2019s ex-wife, Lydia and her daughter, Laura, and a couple of grandchildren. <\/p>\n

\u201cWe need to take a picture with all of us in it,\u201d Kathy said. I agreed. Yes. We definitely need to get that done. I met them as they walked up to us. Aunt Sarah hugged me. She\u2019s 93 years old, the only one left in Mom\u2019s immediate family. She’s been a widow now for many years. I hugged Lydia, too, and Laura. I greeted all of them. Kathy and Aunt Sarah, I had seen and spoken to both of them many times before. All the others in the group were complete strangers to me when I arrived in Vincennes. We lined up and seated ourselves on a couple of rows of seats and smiled for the camera. <\/p>\n

\"Ira<\/a>
\nMy Mother’s blood. Front, from L: Laura Yoder, Sarah McGuire, Lydia Yoder.
\nRear, from L: Ira, Kathy Yoder Barbush, Leah Bullock, Avann Mickens. <\/p>\n

And then people trickled in. Some of them I knew, and some of them I got to know later. The crowd was small, probably the same size that had attended earlier that day. I looked out and recognized some of the Wagler family from Daviess, the people who had taken me in back in those frantic days when I was running hard. Dean and his wife, Wanda. And Rhoda and her husband, Marlin. I smiled in wonder. Old friends, from way back. They came. I connected with them later. They had seen the little blurb in the newspaper that afternoon. And they had dropped everything and come to see me. <\/p>\n

Tyson did his little introduction and played the short film again. And then he called my name. I walked onstage for the second time in a few short hours. We shook hands, and he gave me the mic. Supposedly it had been fixed. Sadly, it had not. It didn\u2019t even pretend to work at all. So I set it aside again. And I just talked to the people again. This time, I was highly conscious of the clock. After about forty minutes or so, I opened for questions. There are usually plenty of those. As there were that night, too. A few minutes in, someone in the back asked about the relationship my parents had. About how Dad had kept Mom from her family. There is a brief mention of that fact, early in the book. <\/p>\n

I forget the exact wording of the question. And my response was not planned at all. But it hit me right then and there. They were here. Mom\u2019s blood. Mom\u2019s family. The two siblings whose names were never mentioned. They were here, or their blood was. And I stopped for a little bit and thought of how to say the words. I gathered them in order, in my head. Just speak your heart. That\u2019s all you have to do. It\u2019s all you can do, at this point. And I stammered a bit and fumbled with the words. But they came. <\/p>\n

Yes, I said. It\u2019s mentioned early in the book, how Dad took Mom and moved her away from her family. It\u2019s true, that he cut her off from them. And tonight, they are here, some of that family. Mom\u2019s people. They are sitting right out here in front. Those two short rows. I pointed. I went on. These people are my family. They are my blood. It was not right, what my father did to keep us apart. It was wrong. And tonight, I claim them as family. Our relationship will never be what it would have been, and it will never be what it should have been, had we not been kept apart. But it can still be strong and beautiful. Family is family, and blood is blood. <\/p>\n

And I didn\u2019t really think that much about it, right there when it happened. It only hit me later, kind of sideways, upside the head. How symbolic and significant that moment was. It will affect the narrative in the book I’m working on right now, I’m thinking. And, yeah. My voice shook a little. And yes, I fumbled for the words. But they were spoken, and they were spoken in public. I rejected the actions my father took so many years ago. He did what he thought was right. But he was flawed, as we all are. It wasn\u2019t right, to cut Mom\u2019s people off like that. It was wrong. My family will always be my family. I don\u2019t care how many broken roads any of them walked, getting to where they are. Family is family, and blood is blood. It will always be. I mourn for those who are trapped in the grip of harsh and zealous judgment, those who have never opened their hearts to this simple and powerful truth.<\/p>\n

After a few more questions, I wrapped up the talk. Read a favorite quote from Thomas Wolfe. And I thanked the people who had come. Everyone clapped. And then Kathy walked onstage. She handed me a little bowl of tickets. Everyone had been given a ticket with a number, coming in. Now we would draw to give away four signed copies of my book. I shook the basket, mixed up the token tickets. Pulled one and read the number. A winner. Then another. And another winner. I read the third number. Aunt Sarah gasped, loud enough for the room to hear. \u201cWell, that\u2019s mine!\u201d Aunt Sarah won a book, I said, cheering. Let\u2019s all give her a hand. And we did. Later, I signed all the copies brought to me, and I also posed with Aunt Sarah. I would have gladly given her a book anyway, but I was happy for her, that she won one. And I was so, so honored that she came. <\/p>\n

\"Ira<\/a>
\nAunt Sarah, holding the book she won. <\/p>\n

Wednesday morning dawned. I was up early. By six, I had loaded my bags and hit the road. I texted Kathy on the way out. Thank you so much for everything. I had a super great time. I left the keys on the kitchen island, and the door to the house is unlocked. She texted back. Thanks for being here. I pushed hard that day, on the road. At precisely five that afternoon, I pulled into my drive in New Holland. Eleven hours. That\u2019s how long it takes to drive from Vincennes to my home. <\/p>\n

The next morning, I returned the Camry on my way to work. I was sipping my black coffee and thinking pleasant thoughts. The car had been real nice to drive. I won\u2019t ever grumble if they give me a Camry instead of a Charger. I parked and walked in. Another customer was checking out a vehicle. So I waited for my turn. <\/p>\n

The young Enterprise guy took my keys and went out to inspect the Camry for potential damage. He wasn\u2019t gone long. He walked back in, looking a little excited. And he asked. \u201cDid you drive through any hail?\u201d I thought for a moment, then nodded. As a matter of fact, there was a hail storm, yes, I said. On Tuesday afternoon. Why? And he took me out and showed me. If you held your head just right and looked, you could see. My car had about thirty pronounced little dents on the hood, the roof, and the trunk. That all right there was going to take some fixing. But there was nothing to worry about, the nice young man assured me. My special insurance would take care of it. There wasn\u2019t even any paperwork to fill out. No claims to sign. I just took my receipt and walked out and boarded Amish Black and drove off. <\/p>\n

And right that moment, I was pretty astounded. I still am. Either the Lord is looking out for me, or I\u2019m just walking free. I think that\u2019s it. I\u2019m walking free. The thing is, I work for Him. He doesn\u2019t work for me. Whatever comes along is just fine. I\u2019m not looking for any special little things to happen, but I\u2019m thankful to the Giver of all gifts when they do. And this little trip to Vincennes was a gift, all right. From the moment I walked out the door of my house until the moment I walked back in. And right up through the moment I returned my rental car. It was all a gift, freely given. And a gift freely received, with a grateful heart. <\/p>\n

And I gotta say. It\u2019s a beautiful thing, to walk free like that. Even on broken roads.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

You can’t go back home to your family, back home to your childhood, \u2026back home to the father you have lost and have been looking for,… back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time–back home to the escapes of Time and Memory. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14904","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14904","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=14904"}],"version-history":[{"count":61,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14904\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15490,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14904\/revisions\/15490"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=14904"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=14904"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=14904"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}