Chapter 1

Brian slammed the thick book onto his desk before sliding into the seat and assuming full slouch posture. Best friend, Derek, plopped down next to him.

“I hate history,” Brian grumbled.

“So do I.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Just a bunch of dead people and dates to memorize. It sucks.”

Other kids trickled in like a reluctant stream. As the last one entered, the teacher closed the door.

“Good morning, class.” Mr. Brown’s oxfords squeaked as he moved to the front of the room.

A few grunts returned the cheerful greeting.

“Does everyone have their history book?” He held up a heavy volume.  

A collective groan rippled through the room. Mr. Brown smiled.

“Please place them under your desks. You won’t need them this semester.”

What? Most of the eighth graders leaned forward, against their own wills. A moment later, fist pumps and high fives echoed in the room.

“What?”

“Why?”

“Cool.”

The teacher’s smile broadened. “I got permission from the principal to try an experiment.”

Huh? Skepticism flitted across most faces.

“You heard correct.” Mr. Brown leaned against the metal desk. “Consider yourselves student guinea pigs.”

Several kids laughed.

“Instead of learning about” … a dramatic pause … “a bunch of dead people and dates, we are going to dig into your personal histories and family time periods.”

Did he hear what Derek said? Brian ran a hand through his dark hair.

“You are aware that you are now, at this moment, living tomorrow’s history?”

Now, Brian rolled his eyes.

Your children will someday sit in these seats, think you are impossibly old, and read about what you are living today. So,” he paused again. “I’ve asked if we can explore history through the eyes and lives of your own families.”

“How we gonna do that?” Brittany asked. “They’re all dead.”

“It will easy. And fun. You will start with your family tree. Learn when and where your parents were born; ask the same about your grandparents, their parents, etc. Then, you can research the events of that area and time period.” He passed several papers to each student, filled with nothing but empty boxes.” This is how you will keep track. Put your name in the top box. Below you are two boxes. Put in your parents’ names. Below them…” A quick laugh. “I’m sure you get the picture.”

“How far back we gotta go?” Derek asked.

“As far as you can. You can use the school library computers to get on a genealogy website. More than likely, somebody somewhere has already filled out some information as this research is quite hot at the moment.”

“This looks like a lot of work,” Stanley groaned.

 “Would you rather read this?” Mr. Brown held up the unwanted history book. “I promise you, learning your personal histories won’t feel like work when you get into it.”

Some kids shrugged dubious shoulders while others busily scribbled in all the names they knew offhand. After a few minutes, Mr. Brown drew down the screen and threw an image on it. A young teenage girl smiled down on the class. Several boys whistled.

“She’s hot,” Derek declared as others snickered.

The girl wore a halter top, and short skirt that barely covered her butt. Her long hair was piled at least 10 inches high on her head. She leaned against a red car with one white knee-high booted foot crossed over the other.

“Car’s hot, too.”

“That’s a 1964 Ford Mustang convertible,” Mr. Brown explained.

“I seen one…”

“Saw,” he corrected gently.

“I saw one like that at a car show my dad took me to last year. The cars back then were insane.”

“Hard to believe that car is 60 years old now.”

“Sixty!” the kids exclaimed.

“Yes, sixty. Now, back to the girl.”

“If that car is 60 years old, she must be 80.”

“Close.” The teacher laughed. “She’s 15 in this picture. The car belonged to her older brother.”

A quietness settled over the children as they stared at the young-girl-turned-75 years old.

“Who is she?” Sophia asked.

“My grandmother.”

“Your grandmother?” More gasps.

“Yes. We all grow up and old. Someday, your kids and grandkids will be staring at pictures of you and wondering why you’re even alive.”

The quiet deepened.

“That hot chick lived in the days of the Beatles, free love and Woodstock. She was a free spirit and not afraid to find herself.”

“What happened to her?”

“Life.”

“Life?” More puzzlement as the class gazed, entranced, at the lovely young lady.

“After partying her way through college, she met my grandfather and ‘settled down’. That’s our expression for letting go of the wild side and becoming responsible.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Perhaps. But, for most of us, life completely changes when we find a job, marry and start having our own children?”

“How? Why?”

“How many of you have younger siblings?”

Most raised their hands.

“Older?” More hands.

“Any babies in the class?”

“My older sister just had a baby,” Sophia said. “She’s 17.”

“Does she live at home with you?”

“Yes.” Sophia moaned. “The baby cries most nights.”

“Has your sister’s life changed at all?”

“Besides getting up every night to feed her baby?” Sophia laughed. “It sure has.”

“In what ways?”

“She quit going to school and is now taking classes on the computer.”

“In other words, her daily routine is different?”

“Yeah.” Sophia spread her fingers in a helpless gesture. “Her boyfriend dropped her as soon as he found out she was pregnant. She’s also trying to find a job she can work at home when she graduates.” She threw her hands out. “It’s like this 6 pound bundle has turned everything upside down.”

Mr. Brown nodded. “That’s ‘life’. It happens and we adjust.” He paused.

“You realize that baby is the next generation for your family? You now have a generation under you. Above you are your parents and grandparents and their parents and their parents. The past stretches behind you for hundreds, thousands of years.” He scanned the class before continuing with Sophia.

“Going back to your parents, you are the next generation and your niece the next. That’s three generations under the same roof.” He reached for a marker and drew a long, horizontal line on his white board.

“Here’s you.” He drew a short, vertical line in the middle. “Here are your parents.” He drew a line to the left. Then, another. “Your grandparents. Their parents.” Short lines punctuated the horizontal line to the left until he ran out of space. “Now…” Mr. Brown moved back to the center. “Back to you.” He placed a dash to the right. “Your niece. Your own children someday. Their children.”

The class studied the visual for several minutes.

 “Your assignment tonight is to start with yourselves, your birthdate and place of birth. Then, ask your parents for theirs and their parents and work back from there. After that, we will use our laptops to research the generations beyond that. We will do this in class.”

That night, Brian flipped on the computer, done with school for the day and ready to play games. The image of his teacher’s grandmother flashed before him. How could such a beautiful girl be so old now? He thought of Sophia’s niece. A shudder passed through him.

I ain’t never having kids. He shut down and wandered into the kitchen.

“Mom, how old were you when Josh was born?”

His mom frowned as she opened a box of macaroni and cheese.

“What brought this on?”

“Mr. Brown, my history teacher, gave us an assignment today. We have to explore our family’s history. One kid, Sophia, was telling us how her niece has disrupted the entire family. Just by being born.”

“Kids will do that.” 

“So, how about Josh?” Brian persisted. “He’s oldest. Did he mess up you and Dad’s lives?”

She raised startled eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure I’d put it like that.” She reached for a saucepan. “This is a strange assignment.”

“I dunno. It might be kinda cool. Do you think Dad will help?”

Her scowl deepened. “It would be a miracle if he did.”

Her tone propelled Brian into the living room where he flopped on the couch. A kid on a mechanized scooter passed by the front window. Brian’s dad had left when Brian was in second grade. He always seemed sort of cool because he always had fun plans during his weekend visits, including ball games and movies.

Mom never takes us anywhere. Always complaining she’s too tired.

Brian’s mom worked in the cafeteria at another school, to keep the same hours as her sons.

She’s just not as fun as Dad.

He thought of Mr. Brown’s words. Life had changed Mom. He could hardly remember her laughter. The summer before Dad split, the family had camped across the United States before visiting his parents on the west coast. So far, those were the memories he held closest to his heart. His family together – for the last time.  

He wandered back into the kitchen just as his older brother burst in the back door.

“Mom,” he yelled. “I need new gym shoes.”

“You don’t have to shout. I’m right here.”

“Sorry.”

“How much?”

“I dunno. Probably 150 dollars.”

Mom’s mouth twisted. “Ask your dad.”

“You think he’ll have it?”

“I don’t know, but I sure don’t.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Josh whined.

“You’re 17. Here’s an idea. How about getting a job and learning nothing’s free in life?”

“A job?” Josh gasped. “You gonna make me work while I’m in school?”

“Why not? You graduate in a year. What will you do after that?”

“I dunno. I don’t have time to work.”

“You come home every night to watch TV or game until bedtime. You have plenty of time to earn money rather than waste it.”

“Awww, Mom. You’re so mean.”

“Not mean. Realistic. As I said, you’re old enough to find out that everything costs money.” She turned back to the stove. “Everything.”

Josh stomped out of the room. A moment later, his bedroom door slammed. Brian inhaled. Released it with purpose.

“Mom?” He hesitated. “Can you help me with my assignment?”

“What assignment?” Sorrow permeated her dark brown eyes.

“I need to know your birthdate and where you were born. Your mom and dad’s, too.”

“Well.” She sank into a kitchen chair with a sigh. “My birthday is June 19, 1990.”

Brian scribbled down the date. A whiz at math, he blurted, “Wow, you were 17 when Josh was born. His age now! Just like Sophia’s sister!” He laughed. “I guess life changed for you, too.”

Mom fisted both hands. “Certainly not the way I expected.” Her eyes flashed.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I gotta be careful if I want to get information here. Understanding dawned. Josh’s birth had forced his parents to marry.

Mom’s face crumpled. “When I was your age, I thought I could change the world. I thought I was invincible. Nothing and nobody could hurt me. I would do what I wanted and live young forever.”

“Was Dad in your school?”

“He was a basketball star. Two grades ahead of me. I thought I was Miss America, Miss USA and Miss Universe rolled up in one when he asked me out on a date.” Her eyes looked straight through her son.

“There’s only one thing on a boy’s mind at that age, Brian. Sex, sex, sex. I was so enamored with him that when he pushed to go ‘all the way’, I was afraid of losing him, so I did. I was 16 when I got pregnant.” She snorted. “Only reason we married was because his family was religious, very religious. His parents were stunned, embarrassed and forceful. They insisted we marry, so we did.” She sighed. “It was a disaster from the start. What do two teens know of real life?” She swiped at a tear.

Brian swallowed a gasp. Mom never cried.

“Your brother wants shoes I can’t afford. He thinks I’m mean. More than likely, your father will get him what he wants. Dad the hero. What will he learn? Nothing. Brian, nothing is free. Everything costs. Until he gets a job and sees how far a paycheck goes, or doesn’t go, he will never understand.”

Mom sat, folding and unfolding the dishtowel carelessly tossed on the table.

I’d better give Mom some space. Brian stood to leave. Mom looked up.

“I’m sorry, son. I shouldn’t have unloaded my frustrations on you. What else did you need?”

“Your mom and dad’s birthdates and place of birth.”

“Mom was born in 1965. Dad is a year older, so 1964.”

“Wow!” Brian exclaimed. “He’s the same age as the Mustang Mr. Brown showed us. I’m impressed.”

“What is that?”

“He showed us a picture of his grandmother. She’s ancient but she sure was hot then!”

“How old is ancient?” A smile flickered and died.

“Seventy-five.”

“It won’t seem that old in a few years.”

“Were grandma and grandpa born here?”

“No. Actually, Mom was born in Pittsburgh…”

“Cool! Brian exclaimed. “Steeler country.”

“Yeah.” Mom nodded. “She and Dad will never let you forget that, either. He was born and raised in a little town on the Ohio River, about an hour from Pittsburgh.” She sighed. “The Ohio Valley really is quite beautiful. I miss it sometimes.”

“You were born there?”

“No, but we spent most of our summers in the valley when I was growing up. It seems so long ago now.” Mom grew serious. “Son, be careful of your choices. Even at your age. All our choices affect us. Eventually, they affect our families, too.”

“I guess that’s what Mr. Brown meant when he said we are living tomorrow’s history.”

“Exactly. If we hadn’t moved, I would never have met your dad.” Another scowl. Then, her face softened. “Our marriage may have been a mistake, but you’re not. I never thought of it before, but you are a product of the two of us, whether I like him now or not. I love you. I love Josh. For all his faults, your father gave me two wonderful boys.” She stood. “Help me put out the food and let’s eat.”

Brian punched in his grandmother's number as soon as Mom announced dinner and cleaning finished. "Can I ask you some questions about growing up in Pittsburgh?"

"Of course, sweetie." Brian winced. He didn't like being called that. "Better yet, how about asking your mom to drive you over after school tomorrow? I'll have pictures ready to show you." She sighed. "I love visiting the old days, you know."

"Okay, thanks Grandma. See you then."

The next day, Brian submitted to his grandmother's hug and kiss before settling down at the kitchen table. Photo albums lay scattered across it like leaves after a fall wind.

"The good old days," Grandma sighed, and then laughed. "I remember when I rolled my eyes every time my own grandparents said those words. Now, I say those same words and understand what they mean." She picked up an album and placed it in front of her grandson.

"I don't remember the wild 60s. I was too young. My parents sometimes shared with me about the upheaval. The assassinations of the two Kennedy brothers. The death of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the ensuing riots. Even hit Pittsburgh where we lived. I'm glad I was only 3 years old that summer and too young to remember." She gazed at the ceiling for a few seconds.

"Two years later, students were shot by the National Guard up at Kent State in Ohio for protesting the VietNam war." A long sigh. "Such tumultuous times."

"Sort of like today?" Brian opened an album.

"I never thought about it, but yes. Just like today. Unrest all over the world. The constant threat of a nuclear attack. Immigration issues. Pandemic fears."

"Maybe even World War III?"

"I pray not." Grandma shivered, but then smiled. "Let's get back to my youth. The Ohio Valley was one of the most prosperous places in America after WWII, when my own parents were young. There were many pottery factories. Several steel mills, and, of course, coal mining."

Grandpa came in from the back porch, poured a cup of coffee and sat beside his wife.
"I remember wandering through the cemeteries as a boy," he said. "Before World War I, almost all names were Western European. English names." He lifted his mug. The Ohio Valley received a huge influx of migrants between the two world wars. Mostly Poles. Slavs. Italians." A sip and he placed the mug on the table.

"As your grandma said, there was plenty of work then. The migrants could get labor jobs even without knowing English. I remember he spoke of a classmate who was the oldest son of a large family of kids. His parents had never learned English. His father died when my friend's youngest sister was two years old, so he had to quit high school to support the family." Grandpa paused to study Brian. "He was your brother's age."

"Gosh. I can't imagine Josh supporting himself, much less a huge family."

"Boys became men at young ages. I also remember a relative whose father died when her brother was only 10 years old. Same thing. He quit school to support his mom and sister."

"A kid working at 10?" Brian gulped.

"Yes. The measure of manhood isn't age, son. It's called responsibility." His eyes caught and held Brian's. "Do you think you could give up video games to support your mom?"

Brian shook his head.

"Those boys went straight into factory work. Labor requires more muscle than education. There was no welfare or government assistance then. Now, when the supporting parent dies, all minor children receive an SSI check until they reach 18. Back then, they were on their own."

Brian fell silent. He thought about all the things he enjoyed doing. Gaming. Sports. Hanging out with friends. Suddenly, school seemed preferable to a job working 10 â?" 12 hours a day.

"What about you, Grandpa? Anything exciting in your family history?"

"Well, my father told me his grandfather was in the great Johnstown flood. Happened..." He stopped to scratch his head and adjust his ball cap. "I think May of 1889. The story goes that he rescued a 6-year-old from drowning." A wry smile. "When he got dementia, he thought I was that young boy when I was 6 years old."

"What's the Johnstown flood?"

"Regular folks suffering at the whims of the rich," Grandma snorted.

"What do you mean?"

"The rich folks of Pittsburgh built a manmade lake up in the mountains to escape summer heat so they could folic in their spare time. Working folks had no such luxury. The lake was formed by an earthen dam. That year, the entire region was inundated with rain. And more rain. People had inspected the dam and warned that it had reached saturation point and could give way. Did the rich folk care? Nope. Just threw some dirt on top of the perceived weak spots and went on playing and enjoying life." Grandma's hands clasped. Unclasped. Grandpa laid his hand over hers and continued the story.

"The day the dam broke, the entire lake burst through the breach. A 70 foot wall of water rushed down the valley. Every small town in its path disappeared in mere minutes. Johnstown got hit the hardest. Some 30,000 folks lived there. Over 2,000 died that day."

A hush fell. Brian picked at his sleeve.

"What happened to the rich people?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? It was their fault! It's not fair!" Now, Brian's hands fisted.

"Life isn't fair, son." Grandpa reached across to cover one fist with his free hand.

"But beautiful," Grandma interjected. "Sure, it's been hard and we've worked for everything we have. But, we've had good times. Enjoying the four seasons." She sighed. "I do miss not having seasons here." Another pregnant pause.

"We got to watch your mom grow up. We love going to the beach. Even the marshes have their own raw beauty."

"I still love the smell of fresh-cut grass," Grandpa said.

"I remember the day your mama brought you home." Grandma smiled. "Yes, precious moments make life all worthwhile."

"I miss small town life," Grandpa said. Everyone knew everyone. We kids never got too crazy because we knew the neighbor adults could discipline us with our parents' blessing. Of course, we didn't appreciate it at the time, but now realize the value of a tight community."

"Do you know any other history of that area?" Brian asked. "Especially family history?

"Yes." Grandpa's shoulders drooped. "One very sad story. As you probably know, the Ohio River is formed from two other rivers, the Monongahela and the Allegheny. Those two rivers meet at the Point in Pittsburgh then join to form the Ohio River which eventually empties into the Mississippi. Back then, in the 1700s and early 1800s, water travel was the easiest and most cost effective. That's before railroads. The settlers needed those rivers to move goods and people. However, the Native Americans wanted to protect their land."

Grandma rifled through one album until she found pictures of the Point.

"Sure is beautiful." Brian bent to inspect the pictures while Grandpa continued his narrative.

"One of my ancestors was a scout along the Ohio River during the American Revolution. But, even before that, there were many clashes between the white settlers and native peoples. As with any conflict, it often turns to retribution for lives lost and gets more and more brutal." He stopped to sip his coffee.

'One day, several white settlers lured a party of natives from the Ohio side to the Virginia side â?" West Virginia was formed years later, during the Civil War. That was long before the lock and dam systems, so the river was easily crossed by canoe. As the natives drew their boats to shore, settlers leaped out of the bushes and killed most of them. A few managed to hide underwater and swim back to the Ohio side." Grandpa paused. Now, Grandma comforted him by patting his hand.

"It was horrible. Brutal. My ancestor was 17 years old at the time. Until his death, he swore he'd been merely a spectator, not participant." Grandpa shook his head.

"Being a male and having been a young man myself at one time, I can't believe his story. Peer pressure alone would force him to fight. You know peer pressure can make us do stupid things. Anyway, he is still celebrated as a colonial hero to folks in that area, but I always feel sad when his name comes up."

"I never heard Grandpa mention those stories before," Mom remarked as she and Brian buckled up for the drive home. "In fact, that's the most I've heard him talk in a long while. This assignment might do both your grandparents some good."

Author Notes

Sorry for the delay on this. I'm still trying to figure out how to navigate the website

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