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BARBARA’S ROOTS

Told by Madeline - Barbara’s Sister

I feel fortunate to tell my sister’s story. Her life is a testament to what is good in this world. She had faults, but they were dim shadows compared to the inspired light of her kindness.

Barbara provided some of the happiest moments of my life. She did it by sharing the most precious gift a sibling can offer a barren sister; her children. She humored me when I offered impractical advice, like when I told her she should be a better housekeeper. I had little clue, and she knew it. While she let me pretend I played an important role in her children’s success, I was, at best, a cheerleader. I enjoyed all the fun of sharing their lives without the drama of babydom, teenage angst or any other catastrophe that befalls a kid while growing up.

Her 1920s and 30s “struggling class” upbringing—somewhere between a lower class and a middle class yet to exist—foreshadowed the life she chose. I say that while believing it is a rare individual who actually ‘chooses’ a particular life. It doesn’t happen that way for most people. I think we stumble into an existence that is more a surprise than a choice. Take my own life for example. I married Al Lafayette, but it was more out of exasperation than love, and I don’t mind admitting it.

I was the Kelly family’s first child—ten years older than Barbara. Our mother, Florence and father, Patrick had two girls and four boys. I was considered tall, though I preferred, ‘statuesque’. I studied glamor magazines to ensure my hair met the standards of the day, and in that sense, I was clearly trendy. My taste in clothes was another matter. I knew early on that my body was made for classically styled dresses, shoes and accessories. Our family might have been poor, but our circumstances were never revealed through my fashion. I became expert at modifying cheaply designed patterns and sewing them back together into something special.

Some of my girlfriends thought I looked like a movie star. One even said I reminded her of Lauren Bacall. I pretended it was impossible to believe something so outlandish, while letting the words repeat in my brain like a fading echo.

As foreign as it sounds by today’s standards, in the 1920s and ‘30s most young womenaspired to become housewives and mothers. It was an honorable goal, born of a dream they understood and that was nurtured by near universal experience. It fulfilled their purpose as history and convention defined it. It completed them. Those who felt trapped tended to escape through education. They became teachers and nurses and a few of the brilliant ones, scie