Each of my paternal grandparents had several brothers and sisters. They had five children and I can remember my dad talking about Sunday visits with this or that relative. Those five kids produced only eight grandchildren so you see the trend toward a giant reunion of people on someone’s lawn didn’t pan out for us. And even though there has bee n a family expansion that gives our family tree an hourglass figure, one of my cousins remarked that this would probably be the last generation to get together.
It’s people moving around the country – partly; I think it has something to do with an expanding media – to some degree; it’s busy schedules – maybe. Whatever.
Seven of us – Ronnie passed away a couple of years ago – met on Wednesday, all from Indiana with the exception of Robert Allen and he’s just across the border in Chicago. (Gee, that sort of puts a dent in the “people moving around the country” reason – but I think in our generation, leaving the Fountain County area was part of it.) Of the eight, I am the seventh . . . the eighth announced her arrival with “Let the party begin, the youngest is here!” Nine months. However, because that nine months was between August and April, she was a grade behind me in school and I remember when I was a freshman at IU, her dad was asking me about my courses and asked her, quite pointedly, “Are you listening to this?” Actually, I don’t think we had much of a choice back in the 60’s . . . Western Civ, dontcha know.
Somewhere I have the picture she showed to the others: the two of us standing side by side, blondes and quite young, with our grandpa bent over behind us, his hands on our shoulders. She was already taller than I . . . and I have the same toddler legs I had then.
Anyway, while we are sitting at lunch at the Beef House, I overhear Ronnie’s sister remark that his grandson had been heavily recruited at a college here to play basketball. And, wouldn’t you know it, the youngest – oh, heck, her name’s Lana, okay; less confusing that way. (Maybe she’s LanaJake?) Let me start over. Wouldn’t you know it, Lana’s son is the head basketball coach* at the college. Here two guys were – great grandson and great-great grandson of the same couple – and they didn’t realize they were related.
Maybe one factor is that my father was the only son and so I am the only one with the original last name, and then, I married so a lot of people don’t automatically look at last names and inquire about relationship.
* I would mention the college but you know how the internet is – someone might follow a link and ask, “Say, isn’t your mother’s FIRST cousin that weird lady who listened to DEAD Rudy Vallee sing The Stein Song for four straight hours?” And with a little more investigation find out his mother sat on a picture of scary Uncle Roy the night before their grandfather’s funeral.