This weekend we made the five/six hour car trip to my mom’s for the usually every couple of years family reunion. My mom is the youngest of eleven children so the turnout, even with a number of her siblings no longer alive, is always quite impressive.
Every time I meet new second, third and probably fourth cousins that make an appearance. And then there’s the “once removed” stuff, which I really don’t understand.
While I’m not the super socializer, especially with those “once removed” folks I’ve never before seen or even heard of, I do enjoy catching up with my aunts, uncles and cousins, many of whom were much a part of my childhood.
I love the stories. Every time I learn more history that I’m just hearing for the first time. Some of it comes through conversation, some comes when sifting through old photos and scrapbooks someone always manage to bring along, and tidbits often come later when we all share side conversations we’ve had throughout our time together.
Here’s the scenario. It’s about 95, but it’s a dry heat. There are plenty of alcoholic beverages and there’s more food than most homeless shelters serve in a day. If there’s one thing about my mom’s family, they never, ever would show up to any kind of a gathering empty-handed. So, when the invitation says “bring your favorite dish,” my mom’s family tends to automatically pluralize that word and instead haul in an entire meal to be joined by the many other entire meals that have arrived.
I’ll admit I have a favorite aunt. I should preface that by saying I love all my aunts. Unfortunately, I don’t have many that are still alive and my Aunt C. likes to talk. She’s the only one to ever shares gossip with me. And, aunt C. loves her wine and she freely tells you that once she’s had a little vino she’s apt to spill even more.
And, here’s what I’ve learned about Aunt C. If you don’t want to hear brutally honest answers then don’t ask the questions.
This time from Aunt C. I learned the real scoop on her daughter’s (my cousin’s) marriage breakup, which she proceeded to tell me as my cousin sat just feet away. But, my cousin assures me it’s public information and she’s used to her mom spilling the story.
It’s always the local barmaid, isn’t it? Well, in this case the local barmaid pursued with such tenacity she landed the man, the big house and the country club membership. My cousin landed out with her three children. But, if you want my assessment, in the end my cousin got the better deal. She’s a much better person than him, and that poor, cheatin’ bloke will remain beholden to his rich daddy and the uneducated barmaid for the rest of his life – so there.
I won’t go into the other gossip because it’s probably more than I want to share with all of you, but let me tell you now that I really should start on that fiction novel I’ve wanted to write for years. As the writing experts say, one never has to go farther than your family and life experiences for the glue that holds a fiction novel together.
I did learn though that two of my aunts who are no longer alive were both writers. One served as the publisher of a daily newspaper for years and earned awards for her writing. Why did I not know this?
I also, for the first time, read a newspaper article about my uncle that had been a POW in WW II for 44 months. He was a civilian working construction and was captured at his worksite. He never spoke about that time with any of the family. I just remember being told that he never talked about “that time.”
In this particular newspaper story, which was written when my uncle was 65, many years later, talked about him finally receiving some medals of honor and finally being told he was eligible for Veteran’s benefits. I so wish now that someone would have pushed him enough to get him to tell his story. I guess it was typical though, and what was expected. Come home and don’t talk about. Yet, what he probably needed most was to talk about it.
Another tidbit I learned was that my two cousins with very similar names, something like Bo and Jo, are not twins. My sister and I, all these years, thought they were twins. I’m still convinced they are. I’m telling you they look exactly alike, and as my sister and I were sifting through the scrapbook and came across their birthdates we both did a double take. I think we’re still pondering how both of us could have believed that all these years. Strangeness at work; I’m sure of it. Sounds like something one might read about in a novel.
It’s hard for me to fathom any woman giving birth to eleven children, children that overall turned out to be incredible human beings with fulfilling lives and wonderful families. I was in second grade when my grandma died so I don’t remember her well, but I do remember how I felt when I was around her and my grandpa. She truly must have had a heart of gold and a caring spirit to match. She always made me feel loved and happy. I know her and my grandpa would be happy to know that her children are still carrying on the reunion tradition.
Now it’s time I get to work on that novel.
Grandma and Grandpa G’s wedding photo. I love this picture!
