Whenever I was a teenager my eyes opened to how bad life really was. I began to jokingly refer to everything negative in my world as “the Jackson family curse”. I think at the time I was trying to be ironic but somehow the concept seemed to have merit and the more that I thought about it the more genuine it seemed to be.
My grandfather was an only child. He was married before the war (that would be WWII) and divorced after. He had one child in that marriage, I’ll call him Robert. My grandmother also had a failed marriage around the same time which resulted in a son, I’ll call him John.
Whenever my grandparents married the boys became stepbrothers. My grandparents then went on to have a son together, lets say Jim. So Robert, John and Jim all became the start of the Jackson family curse.
The details are pretty sketchy but I’ll try to tell this part of the story as accurately as I can based on snippets of information that I caught growing up. Whenever my dad was about eight years old something happened. Something terrible. Robert and John tried to kill my grandfather.
The older boys were young teenagers at the time and my fathers story is that they ambushed my grandfather outside and bashed him on the head to try and murder him. I don’t know why and neither did my dad. He saw it and remembered being afraid. After that the two boys ran away and my father never saw either of them again.
My grandfather was not killed (not sure how extensive the damage was). This event stayed with my father and he talked about it off and on throughout his life. I can’t help but think that it might have been one of the contributing factors to his alcoholism, which in turn became part two of the family curse.