The Putnam Family Myth

My mother told me many times that she was the favorite grandchild of her maternal Putnam grandparents. It only stood to reason. She was the first grandchild, and she, Etha L. Moses, was named for her grandmother, Etha V. McCoy Putnam.

My great grandfather died before I was born, as did my great grandmother – by only three days. Her death was Christmas Day, and I was born on the day she was buried – December 28. She was the only person who was told what my name would be if I were a girl – Nina May, making me the namesake of my grandmother, Nina May Putnam Moses, the daughter of Etha Putnam. That was a significant piece of information to ruminate in my young mind as I grew up in Etha Putnam’s world.

Nina Moses, my grandmother, inherited her parents’ home. She sold it to my parents and held the mortgage for them. We moved in when I was an infant. The furniture, knickknacks, linens, dishes, and carpets in my childhood home were a mix of my parents’ purchases and the items the three Putnam heirs relinquished. I used Etha Putnam’s insulin bottles, which I found around the house, as milk bottles in my play kitchen.

Repeatedly, my mother related stories of her wonderful, loving grandparents and the special things they did for her. For Christmas one year, the Putnams had purchased Lane cedar chests for their three granddaughters. Grandma and Grandpa allowed my mother to have a peek at the gifts before Christmas as they wanted to see her reaction privately. They gave her a loving note, which she saved in the bottom of her chest, explaining where to look in their house to find her gift, and reminding her to keep it a secret until Christmas Day. They privileged my mother in many ways, warning her not to mention anything to her siblings or cousins. My mother adored these grandparents. Who wouldn’t love grandparents who made you feel special above all others?

Following my mother’s death, the genealogy bug bit me. As part of my research, I asked living relatives their memories of our family. While reminiscing a few years ago, a cousin told me some suspicions of family dealings. This cousin surmises that Great Grandpa Putnam made a special monetary gift to their family, because, as this cousin said, “My [parent] was the favorite grandchild.” I was shocked! I declared that my mother was their favorite.

None of the grandchildren were alive at that moment of discovery, but I was constrained to ask the other great grandchildren if they had been told that their parent was the favored grandchild. They had! Frank and Etha Putnam had succeeded in convincing each grandchild that he or she was the most special one without their ruse being discovered before all of the grandchildren were gone. Plus, each grandchild was so convinced that they were the favored one that they passed that information on to their children.

My initial reaction to this knowledge is that they were appalling grandparents to have lied to their grandchildren. That was a dangerous game to play with young emotions. Their fib compelled their grandchildren to have more love and respect for them. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if the grandchildren had found out the truth – that they were all loved very much, but not exclusively. I am quite sure that if I had been told that, I would have taunted my brother in our regular disagreements with, “Naaa naa n’na na… I am Grandma and Grandpa’s favorite grandchild!” And then, when the truth was discovered, my internal explosion would have destroyed my love for and my faith in them.

The real truth is that they told each grandchild that they were the favorite one, because they were! I am sure that they loved each grandchild individually. All six grandchildren died knowing they were the favorite. Now that is a beautiful story.