The Road Not Taken

Earlier this evening I was driving on a country road, looking for a dairy bar that might serve sugar-free frozen yogurt (my favorite). Gradually I realized that the road I was on might lead to the village where my mother lived when she was growing up - a place I have never visited before.

I followed the road at least into what appeared to be the main intersection in the village, which I have previously seen only in century-old photographs. I didn't recognize anything. All the buildings were fairly recent construction, except for a few small frame dwellings that looked old. Might one of them have belonged to one of my relatives? I don't know.

It was nearly dark, so I couldn't spend much time looking around. Even if it had been broad daylight, however, I might have hesitated before poking around. After all, my mother never brought me here, even though it is less than an hour's drive from where we lived when I was growing up. Why not? Once again, I don't know.

I have my suspicions, of course. My mother's relationship with her family was strained, for the most part. Her parents were long dead by the time I came along. Of her five brothers and sisters, I only saw Mildred and Clyde, maybe once a year. My mother didn't talk about her family very much, but from the few details she did disclose, my teenaged imagination formed an impression of something out of Tobacco Road. Was she ashamed of her family? Or, because she left her family for greener pastures, were they ashamed of her?

My mother isn't around to answer my questions any more. But I have developed an acquaintance with one of my cousins. Through her, and through on-line genealogical research, I have formed a much more complete picture of my mother's family. Her father may have had his foibles, but as a group they certainly were not the crackers of my imagination.

So again the question arises: Why didn't my mother ever take me to see the place where she grew up? Or did she, and I just have no memory of it?

What does this have to do with karate? Not much, except that in life, as in karate, tradition is important. Change may creep in over time, as knowledge is passed from one generation to the next, but change should never be introduced for its own sake. This is embodied in the concept of ryu pa.

I think some of the traditions concerning my mother's family may have become corrupted, so I guess I'll have to follow that country road and go back to her village in daylight, and see what I can find.