From Ungrateful to Thanksgiving: The Transformation of a Goat Headed Girl
It is the season for gratitude. I am surprised to hear a scolding voice in my head that says, “Jane, you are so ungrateful.” As a storyteller, I’m curious. What’s behind this voice?
As a child, I remember hearing a tale of a complaining girl. In the story of the Goat Girl, Renzolla, a peasant’s youngest daughter, is brought up in a king’s household. She neglects to thank her fairy godmother for making this possible and, instead, complains about everything. At one time in the past, goats symbolized wickedness. So, the fairy godmother turned her head into that of a goat because she was so ungrateful.
Perhaps I was like the goat girl, at age five, when I received my first piece of silverware. This was a Christmas present from my great aunt. Why not give me a doll? Or a book? I loved books even then. These would have been gifts to please me. Instead, a single, silver spoon. I was so disappointed. It was a simple pattern called Serenity. It would have made no difference to me, at the time, if the pattern were simple, or elaborate. I was ungrateful.
I called my great Aunt Mary, Mamie. My mother referred to Mamie as her “maiden aunt,” because she never married. Mamie, and her sister, Aunt Bell, were almost a full generation older than my grandfather who was their younger half-brother. I mention that because of their cultural values and world view about women and marriage. The gifts of silver were probably inspired by the tradition of the ancient idea of a bride price, or a dowry, which then had evolved into the idea of a “hope chest.” By the time a girl was married, she would have collected an entire set of silver, as well as china and linens.
So, for Christmas and birthdays, I continued to receive silver pieces from Mamie and sometimes from Aunt Bell. My mother insisted I send thank you notes, however, there was no gratitude in my heart when I wrote them.
At the time I got my first apartment, followed by others, and then my house, I never took the silver with me. I gave it to my mother who didn’t have a set of good silver. She may have added some place settings. When my mother died, the silver was returned to me and I thought I put it in my storeroom. Recently, when I went to look, I couldn’t find the silver box.
Reflecting on my indifference to the gift of the silver, I wonder if it had to do with the symbolism of the place settings, rather than the objects themselves. I am a feminist and economically independent. My father used to say, “Jane, you better never marry. You don’t like to cook, and you don’t like housework.” The idea of marrying and being dependent on a man was not appealing. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea of romance, it was just that I have always been a free spirit.
As an ungrateful girl, my head was not turned into that of a goat. But I did encounter goats when I lived with my parents on an animal farm owned by one of the very wealthy Vanderbilts. There were Toganberg and Pygmy goats as well as other small and exotic animals. The goats weren’t wicked, they were very cute. But I wouldn’t want to have one for my head! Instead, I have held onto the scolding voice.
Uncovering the origin of this scolding voice has led me to the gift of the silver that I received, didn’t value, cannot find, but now appreciate. Mamie and Aunt Bell, I see now, were products of a world view about females that is different from mine. In their realm, they wanted me to have something of value to hold onto. Something that I would save and enjoy someday long in the future, even after they were gone.
Their gift must have come from a hope or a wish that their taste and their values would remain a part of my household and bring pleasure to me as well. They invested in the pattern called Serenity. I had no idea at all what the meaning of serenity was as a child. I am amazed that the pattern’s name has stuck in my memory even after the silver has been lost. And now when I think of Mamie, whom I am certain chose the pattern, I think of her legacy to me––serenity.
I sent for a replacement spoon as a remembrance of my great aunts’ kindness. Now it is a treasure that I will keep and use as a symbol of my gratitude for having them in my life.
This is cross-posted from Jane Knox’s blog The Ageless Goddess.