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I can hardly wait until next time


Families. We all have them. They shape us at every step of our lives.

Some people diagram them as "trees." Some collect old photos and tape oral histories for records that will move with and beyond them into the future. Some run away, trying to put old unhappinesses behind them. We may chase to embrace, or dash as fast as we can in the other direction. But none of us will ever escape the family influences that have made us who we are.

In my family, on my father's side, there were rifts and bad blood that poisoned two generations and were threatening the third when my cohorts and I decided that enough was enough, and started getting together regularly to share our memories, our stories, our lives.

Now we have a cousins' reunion every other year, in one of the many cities across the country into which we have scattered. We all look forward for months to these few days together, during which we decide where and when we will meet next -- and so we begin looking forward again even before we say good-bye.

As families go, this one is small. There are only 10 of us. There should have been 13, but two died as small children and one in young adulthood. And between us, we have produced just 14 for the fourth generation. (But our children seem to be doing better: collectively, nine grandchildren have already been born to us.)

We began "re-unioning" a few years ago at big events: one of us turned 50, one of our children got married. Then we established this comfortable routine that we now follow, coming together on alternate July 4 weekends for actual fireworks and some of our own.

Four years ago we were in Kansas City, where the largest number of our family members now live; there we ate barbecue, listened to jazz, and celebrated the 85th and 80th birthdays of our two last remaining "elders."

Two years ago we were in Pittsburgh, where the family actually has its U.S. roots; there we drank Iron City beer, rode the incline for a spectacular night view of lights over three rivers, and revisited the places where we were born and spent our childhoods.

Now, this year, we were in Southern California. We viewed fireworks blasting off simultaneously in many municipalities from a panoramic vantage point in Rolling Hills, and were taken on an exhaustive tour of Long Beach by the proud one of us who has lived there for decades. We ate in cousins' homes, where neighbors were jealous that they weren't official parts of our fun, and at a restaurant where other diners did decide that they would become honorary members of our family and joined in singing and dancing with us.

On Saturday morning, I observed my maternal grandmother's yahrzeit in the beautiful Palos Verdes synagogue that a cousin-in-law has served as president. "Here for the reunion!" he introduced me proudly to members of his congregation.

Things happen in families from one year to the next -- and more things in two years. This time: one person is gone, the wife of the oldest of our 10 first cousins, after a long battle with uterine cancer. To "balance," somewhat: a new child has been born, the second grandson of one of our youngest. Two years ago, one cousin could not make the reunion because she had recently been diagnosed with myasthenia gravis. This time: She was the healthy hostess for our first-night supper!

The cousin who last time was in the throes of a nasty divorce has since bought her own house, made many new friends and plans a glorious trip to Russia later this summer. The cousin who had a nasty divorce a few years ago has given a ring to a special someone new, so there will be a wedding for us to attend. Maybe it will be next year; we've already planned an extra get-together for '04, to celebrate the 90th and 85th birthdays of those family elders.

Family: for me, it's a piece of fabric continually being added to, and subtracted from. Some spots are faded or worn completely through; some are bright and new, just like today. I can figuratively hang that cloth upon the wall and attempt to unravel with my mind's eye its many intersections; in my imagination, I can wrap it about myself and feel the warmth of years.

Hooray for reunions! Already, I can hardly wait until next time.


This story was published in the DallasJewishWeek
on: Thursday, July 24, 2003

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Copyright 2003, Dallas Jewish Week