Blowing My Family Nose Tree

Blowing My Family Nose Tree

The winter and spring of the Northeast United States breeds any number of runny noses and mucossy throat run-off.  Kleenex cleans up.

An infection in the sinuses produces mucus to carry away all bad things in the nose.  The whole purpose of snot, as I understand it, is to carry waste product out of the body.

And for that the snot needs some assistance.  “Blow it out,” I say.

Like all activities with you (Ian, Ben and Hannah) time and patience are the two most important factors.  If I was interested, you were interested.

I have a runny nose.  It runs in the summer, spring, winter and in the fall I am still trying to catch this nose.  I always have some nose wipe on hand:  hanky, sleeve, tissue or t-shirt.  I started carrying hankies when I was about 36 years old

I carried two:  One for show and one for blow. The secret pride of preparedness appeals to my Boy Scout nature.  The hanky is Jesus, a savior, a life raft in a storm of runny snot and hanging boogies.   It is important to have something to pull out of your pocket in an awkward social emergency.

Some people carry tissues.  Gram Doc, my grandmother, was a spindly 80 year old tissue carrier with white hair when I knew her.  She died when I was 9 or 10, so my memories of her are born young and ended early.  She wore cardigan sweaters in pale blue or white.  From years of use the yarn had stretched comfortable and long, to fall past her waist.  The sleeves too, had grown long, but those were easily rolled to meet her thin, blue veined wrists.  She kept tissues tucked into her sleeves.  Margaret Dougherty bore three children:  Edward, James and Joan.  Joan is my mother.  Her brothers were like this:

Uncle Ed was a Park Guard and City Cop in Philadelphia.  He was a big likeable stereotypical Irish Cop.  He had a red nose and a good sized belly and clear blue eyes that smiled.

I never saw Uncle Ed without a beer. For visits outside his home, he carried an auxiliary case of beer on ice, in the trunk of his car, because only commercial establishments (bars, taverns or tap rooms) could stock the quantity of beer necessary to quench his thirst.

I now know he was a “working alcoholic” as opposed to messy drunks who can’t hold down a job because the drink has got em’.  I don’t know how he handled work.   I doubt that he drank at work although it wouldn’t be out of the question for old school coppers to stop and have a drink for lunch or to have a nip of whiskey to warm the belly on cold winter nights.

When I was nine, I marveled over how much he liked beer.  He went out of his way to make sure he had access to a beer and all times.  I felt that way too, about Hubba Bubba bubble gum.  It is how Benny likes bananas and Ian Chinese Chicken (General Chows Chicken).  I also thought about how thirsty he must be.  I didn’t know about alcoholism at the time, but I knew something was wrong.  No man should be that thirsty.  

His brother, your Great Uncle Jimmy, on the other hand (or maybe on the same alcoholic hand; just a different finger) was a hard liquor alcoholic.  This guy was a likeable, happy drunk, unless he was in a fight with someone, then he was not so likeable.  He was short and cocky from the rodeo pics that I have seen of him.  He died when I was in first grade.  My father, Pop, was at a horse show and here is how he tells of meeting Uncle Jim and how Uncle Jim had a sister who Pop would later meet and love and marry:  Grandmom Murphy, my mother.

Here is Pop’s story that is one possible starting point for all of our stories:

I was at a horse show at Marlin Frances on Welsh Rd.  I seen 3 big dudes laying on a blanket and another one standing lookin’ down at this little guy.

People were gathering around and the little guy was saying, “Come back in the woods. I don’t want to fight you with your friends here.”

It was in the afternoon. I was on my horse.  I edged closer and said, “Go ahead, n’ belt him Shorty!  Nobody will bother you.” 

I guess they sensed if they tried, they’d get stomped as later people found out that I could run that horse into a wall if I wanted.   I mean nothin’ could stop her if I wanted her to do you.  

Jim got punched in his big beak it was all over.  I rode away.   Jim got his horse, came riding up to me and said, “My name is Jim Dougherty.  What yours?” 

“Joe Murphy,” I said, “You didn’t fair to well. Why’d you punch him?”

He said, “I looked up at you and that horse and said to myself, “There’s one with me!”  He looks like he’ll ride and stomp ‘em with that horse.” 

That started a lifetime friendship.

Pop.
Joseph P. Murphy, Jr.
Circa 1948

These are 1940’s cowboys living in Philadelphia.  There was a “horse people” community living within the city limits.  The parks connected everything straight through to Harrisburg, PA. You could travel on horse trails for a week.

And with that, my father connected to his future wife and I was born a few years later and a few years after that you were born.  Such is the family tree, which starts in this tale with Gram Doc and her tissues.

My Gram Doc had clear blue eyes with hazel around the edges.   I remember her eyes being as watery as her nose, but I am sure she dazzled in her youth, before her eyes and nose went leaky from wear and forced her to surreptitiously tuck tissues in the sleeve of her worn white woven cardigan.

Our first nose blowing practice didn’t involve any tissues.  The lesson started in the bathtub.  The three of us would strip down and fill-up the tub.  All my life, I had never taken a bath with more than two inches of water.  Since I came from a family of five I guess that was necessary, but you boys liked a good 6 inches or more.  We bathed in deep  water and I loved it.

We practiced putting our faces under water and blowing bubbles from our nose.  One big open mouth inhale and then slowly put your face under the water.  Or we would be still so the water line remained constant with our mouth submerged and our nose doing all the work; balancing life between two atmospheres.

We looked into each others eyes and focused on our not breathing.  You learned to breathe out of your nose, how to hold your breathe, to become familiar with the burn of lungs wanting oxygen.  Learning the anatomy of breathing was the first step in blowing your nose.

We took turns to challenge how long we could stay underwater with our full face submerged.  It was another step in being comfortable in water.  This was not only bath time and nose blowing practice; this was also your first swimming lessons.  Swimming is first about managing breath and secondly about moving body parts.  Most children have the strength; the problem is they do not understand how to manage their breathing and then they panic and then they sink.

You formed the habit of inhaling through your mouth and exhaling through your nose; which also clears the nasal passages.  It is blowing your nose without a tissue.  You boys were blowing your nose just from instinct to clear out the airways that you now knew you possessed.

We practiced breathing five nights a week in the tub.  We spent that time together and learned to breathe and the only other part of the nose blowing lesson is how to hold a tissue.  That took about nothing to learn.  We then honed in on the finer points of nose blowing like nostril rotation for maximum output.  I would still check your noses (and you would check mine) but you were both grabbing your own tissues and snotting away.  Your mother was proud of her boys.

We learned the anatomy of the breathe, the art of  breathing and how to blow a nose in the tub, at night, after dinner, noiselessly sitting ever so still with the warm soapy water up to our eyeballs,  when all was right with the world.