Miller Genes

My uncle Norm called me Thursday to recount his visit with his “favorite brother.” He’d flown into Evansville on Monday and out on Wednesday , and slept, not in my father’s house, but at the B&B Cool Breeze .

Talking to Norm reminded me that neither brother is all that good at answering direct questions. You would think a simple, declarative “yes” or “no” or “ I bought Skippy peanut butter” meant a midnight visit from Sister Helen Prejean. Inevitably, most answers are delivered cryptically, like a message inside a fortune cookie written by Will Rogers. However, if you don’t threaten them with a question, you’ll get a lot of information, and in the case of my uncle, delivered in a slow, almost southern drawl. When Norm talks I want to hop up on his lap.

Besides evading questions, there’s also this assumptive quality embedded in the Miller family. It’s either we assume you don’t care or assume you already know or assume it doesn’t make much difference. All this assuming leaves someone in the dark.

Here’s an example.

Norm: “You know, I met this Jeff guy while I was at your father’s house.”

Me: “He’s a good man.”

Norm: “Well he is. And you know what else? I like his politics.”

Me: “Of course.”

Norm: “ But you know what? (pregnant pause) In other families if you’re introduced to someone you get background information. Where they work, how they fit into the family, maybe even why they’re in your living room. But not in the Miller family. Millers leave all that for you to figure out.”