La Reunion

On Saturday morning, last, I drove to the bucolic village of Fairy, Texas to attend a family reunion. I rarely attend these festivals. I made an exception this time.

In my youth, such gatherings were a bewildering parade of old people who I never saw in my life. “That’s my great uncle Wilbur.” My father might say, pointing to a wizened old coot across the room. There were hundreds of strangers around the room. Then there were all those unfamiliar children. I knew some of them. The older ones delighted in torturing my contemporaries and me. The younger ones might leak bodily fluids on the unwary relative. It was my privilege to leak something all over my cousin Buddy when I was quite small. He has never recovered from the indignity. I saw my chance and I took it. (That's him, dozing in his chair.)

This reunion was different. My father had eight brothers and sisters. Dad is gone now and only his youngest and oldest sisters remain. Evelyn, the eldest, is past her mid nineties and headed for the century mark. “Baby sister,” Quata, is an attractive, cheerful and ageless woman. They are our family treasures. One tier back, my generation is now old coots. While the ravages of time have spared me, I am sorry to report my cousins are paunchy, gray bearded, rheumy-eyed old men. (It is my blog. If you have another opinion, get your own blog and publish it. :) )

There were several high points at this reunion. First, there were hundreds of attendees. I admit to feeling satisfaction when someone pointed in my direction and explained who I was to a youngster. (A youngster is almost anybody or anything under the age of 50. It is a sliding scale.) Meanwhile, the kid was undoubtedly eyeing an attractive stranger of the opposite sex, hoping they were unrelated and could not care less about the old coot across the room.

The second high point was enjoying the respect afforded to us codgers. A girl brought me a chair. Someone shuttled iced tea to my table without my asking. Another entertained me with conversation. It was a happy visit, but I wondered if she was working on a merit badge for Girl Scouts. Everyone under the age of 80 treated my generation with respect bordering on trepidation. Apparently, our reputations precede us.

The video recording of the newly ancient telling stories about growing up, being young, foolish, and rearing families of our own was the best. Each of us took a turn sitting in front of a video camera, babbling about our childhood adventures and life with our parents. It was touching and hilarious. Naturally, when my turn came, I went completely blank, except for claiming I was adopted. I might have gotten away with it if my aunts had not shouted their objections. On the drive home, stories flooded into my mind. Perhaps I will share a few of them here in coming weeks. As on tape, I shall clean them up a bit in the telling.

I will save a few for next year, too.