The Current - The Rivers School

Osa Okoh // Snowy Woods
Annie Reardon // anything but ordinary
It all began when I was told that William Tecumseh Sherman was my great-great-great grandfather. Having no knowledge of the Civil War, I felt a sort of entitlement
that one of my relatives was a Civil War general. However, in seventh grade, when I learned about William Tecumseh Sherman, I was horrified that I was “related” to a man who
burnt the entire South to ash. I kept asking myself, “How did my friend Margaret Taylor come to be related to William Clark, and I had to be related to man who was despised
by the entire South”
My grandfather, known as “Grandpadz” is somewhat of a pathological liar. He does not lie about important things, but instead, about foolish things, for his own
amusement. It was because of him that I carried the burden of my ancestry from ages twelve to sixteen. Last Thanksgiving he sat across from me at the dinner table bragging
about how women with oxygen tanks find him extremely attractive (partly true), or how the week prior, the Episcopal Bishop had given him a spectacular award because of
his beautiful singing voice (the award was a lie, the voice was not). When he paused from his antics, I told him that last week in history we had covered our ancestor William
Tecumseh Sherman. A smile broke from the corners of his mouth as he secretly congratulated himself, for I had given him the assurance that he was still the master of trickery
even at age of ninety-one. For the next ten minutes he went on and on about how William’s rifle had been passed down from generation to generation, and now that he
possessed this historical artifact, he was contemplating whether to donate it to a museum...unless perhaps I had wanted it. I responded with, “Grandpadz, do you really think
I would want to have the rifle that obliterated the South and helped to kill thousands of Americans !” He chuckled to himself for he had hit a nerve, and went back to his
antics.
After supper, Grandpadz and my mom did the dishes. Sitting in the next room over, I overheard Grandpadz say to my mom,“The Sherman legend gets em’ every
time: it fooled you, and fooled your daughter.” I heard my mom laugh, for she knew Grandpadz took great pride in his tall tales such as the Sherman legend.
Grandpadz has mastered this art of fibbing. He can tell you the most ridiculous story but his convincing expression could make you believe that what he is telling
you came directly from a history textbook. Grandpadz has cultivated a family full of fibbers. My family tells harmless lies because we wish to make our lives more exciting--
something more than ordinary. But who are we kidding I come from a family who is the farthest thing from ordinary; let’s be honest, who in his right mind would contrive
a legend that his family is related to a mass murderer
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