The Tenth Child
By Barbara J Eikmeier
I have eight siblings. The nine of us were together recently for my dad’s funeral. It was a bittersweet day. My dad was 92 years old and yet, despite the wind, rain, and mud, over 350 people attended his service.
The church ladies served lunch at the church hall. They came out in full force to support my mother who, for 25 years oversaw the funeral meal program. And they brought food: Potato salad dotted with black olives, deviled eggs, sprinkled with paprika, and delicious fried chicken. There were cookies, pies, and cakes. I grabbed the last piece of cheesecake and handed it to my older sister – I think it’s the only thing she ate that day. She was busy greeting people. Without planning, we nine children spread out in the hall talking to as many visitors as possible.
I chatted with Janet in front of the photo display – she lived with my parents her senior year. She said, “I visited your dad a few months ago. I asked if I could go upstairs and see my room.” She was like a tenth child. In fact, she’s always claimed that status. But then there’s Ed. Younger than all of us, my dad took a liking to Ed and encouraged him when he started a goat dairy. Some of us even call him our little brother. I knew about these two claims for the tenth child position but was surprised when Sara, a family friend and my dad’s god daughter, asked to take a picture of my mom with the nine of us. She then jumped between two brothers and said, “Now let’s get another with me in it, after all, I’ve always felt like I was the tenth child!”
Later that evening, back at The Dairy, as we call my parent’s place, we siblings exchanged stories about the day. That’s when I learned there are others who claim to be the tenth child. The common thread was, “He treated me as if I was a member of the family.” My own best friend since the 6th grade recalled, “I would just come in and sit down at that big ole farm table and eat dinner as if I lived there.” Neighbors who spent summers on the farm said, “He treated me like I was the tenth child.”
I don’t share DNA with any of the tenth children, but I’ll share my family with them. After all, as my mom would say, “When you are already cooking for eleven people, what’s one more?”
Someday I may be able to write about some of the more poignant moments of my dad’s final days and his funeral, but for now I’m finding comfort in the fact that so many people thought so much of him that they wanted to be his tenth child.
Do you have self-adopted family members?
Bob and Doris Martin and their 9 children
Barbara J. Eikmeier is a quilter, writer, student of quilt history, and lover of small-town America. Raised on a dairy farm in California, she enjoys placing her characters in rural communities.
Oh Barbara, I am so sorry for your deep loss. I understand how discovering the way your father (and obviously your whole family) embraced “outsiders” in a way that affected their lives can help ease a bit of the heartache. Maybe it’s knowing that everything we do spreads out like the ripples in a pond. ~TK
Thank you TK.. I like that “ripples in a pond”. Let’s keep the rippling going! I appreciate your thoughtful words.
My deep condolences on the passing of your dear father. Your family life on the farm sounds idyllic, and I’d love to hear more of your memories. As for self-adopted family members, my mother lived with a family that had three daughters, back in the day when unmarried women didn’t live alone. They embraced her as a fourth daughter, and she embraced them as parents and sisters. That relationship has extended through the generations, so much that I had three sets of grandparents, three extra aunts, and loads of cousins My son and their children consider themselves cousins, as well. Sometimes family is defined by more than DNA. Sounds like your father believed that, too.
Thank you. I loved reading about your multi- generational adopted family! I have written many short stories about growing up on a farm while in a memoir writing group at a nearby library. I participated for years until my work travel made it impractical. I should get them out and consider posting some here. I know you are still waiting for more stories from my time in Korea too! Thanks for the kindness about my dad and the encouragement to share those stories.
Barbara, my deepest condolences. That means so much that you have an extended family. My brother, sister and my friends spent so much time at our friends’s homes, it almost felt like we belonged. My brother had a friend who would come in, enter the kitchen and take a pie plate out of the cabinet. He’d been at our house when we had a houseful and there were no more plates available. From that point on, he adopted that pie plate even though there were available dishes.
Memories like these, so inconsequential to the outside world, are the best memories. I imagine you have plenty of these. Keep them close. They will provide you lots of comfort in the upcoming days and years! ::hugs::
Thanks for the tip about keeping these moments close.
Your story about the pie plate made me laugh out loud! We often ran out of plates in our cupboard too, but I don’t think I ever saw anyone use a pie plate! The fact that he has remained attached to his pie plate is proof that he is fond of your family!
What a beautiful and touching story! It is amazing that so many people came out in the rain and mud to support your family. It sounds like you and your siblings had a special way of honoring your father that day. How was your mother doing after the funeral?
Thank you. I think my brothers had an idea there would be a lot of people there but I was amazed! My mom had several weeks of not seeming like herself. She slept a lot. But the weather is improving and she is doing better. So sweet of you to ask about her.
Sincere condolences. It is amazing how in the loss, one discovers truths about loved ones – especially parents- that were never known – such as multiple tenth children. What a tribute to your dad.
Thank you Debra. In helping care for my dad in his last year and half I made startling discoveries. I once shampooed his hair and was shocked to run my fingers through his hair and learn it was the same slippery fine hair as mine! Until then I don’t think I had ever touched my dad’s hair. I think I’ll remember that moment for a long time.
I feel for you, Barbara. It’s hard to lose a parent, no matter the age. It’s a great tribute to your father to have others feel so close to him. And it’s also a great comfort to the family to know how fondly will be remembered. May your memories be sweet.
Thank you Gay. My brothers seemed to know there would be a crowd to see my dad off but I think even they were surprised by how many people came.
So sorry about the loss of your father, Barbara. Such a touching story. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Lynn.