November 2, 2005

As an independent, free thinking American male, I am not one who really likes to take orders. Face it, no one really does. Your first split-second reaction is to automatically reject the notion, regardless of its wisdom, simply because it comes from someone telling you what to do. My parents can attest to this: More than a few of their wrinkles – excuse me, character lines – can be directly attributed to the very nature of this rebellion. But as far back as I can remember, she was the one whose orders I never even thought about questioning. It wasn't the fear of retribution from my father or anyone else (well, OK, maybe a little bit of fear), it was simply because it was her.

But here's the thing – you never thought of it as an order. It was more like a request you felt overwhelmingly compelled to grant. In my world she wasn't a dominating force, but there was no mistaking her influence on those around her. Her four kids, sixteen grandkids, and a battalion of spouses and great grandchildren all are better people for having known her. She was the Matriarch who had it all under control, no matter how chaotic the situation, and managed with impeccable poise and grace.

As much as I loved and respected her, for me her identity was intrinsically linked to her husband. What I mean by this is you didn't think of one without the other. I never visited "Grandma's House", I visited "My Grandparents' House". Grandpa was the one who did his very best to spoil you, and you never entered his house without the famous words "Boy, you look hungry. Let me get you something to eat." He didn't like to say "No" to his grandchildren. But for every "Yes" that came out of his mouth, there was the inevitable "Grandpa!" or "Dad!" or "Clyde!" which followed. She was The Regulator. She made sure he knew just how much us kids were being spoiled, and she had no compunction about letting you know where you stood.

I have made the statement (and stand by it) that the women in the Clark Family have no sense of humor. I am not saying they are incapable of laughter, but more often than not things that make the Clark men howl with tears streaming down our faces are usually met with "That was stupid" by those with the Y chromosome deficiency. I will never be sure, but I think she started this and passed it on to the other Clark women either thru genetics or by the ritualistic brainwashing of new Clark women inductees. If I ever said something I thought was funny to any of my other grandparents, at the very least I could expect a smile and condescending chuckle. She was the exception. She would maintain the party line – "That was stupid." If it wasn't funny to her she told you so. But as with everything else about her, you didn't question, you simply accepted; and this was just another in the long list of reasons why you loved her.

I am blessed with a large, close knit family. We don't always get along and we don't see each other as much as we probably should, but there is no mistaking the love we share. In a world where broken homes, abuse, neglect, and violence are right outside our door, the Clarks have thrived and prospered because two people made sure the principles and tenets of Love were shared and passed on. My hope is we take every opportunity to pass these principles on to the youngest generation of Clarks, as I can think of no better tribute to the memory of Clyde and Frances Clark.

Today she is again with her husband, the way it was always meant to be.