I have four first cousins, the children of my Aunt Alice and Uncle Dick. Aunt Alice is my mother’s younger sister, and she and I have an affinity that defies description. I leave it at that.
Even though we’re the same generation, my cousins and I are still getting acquainted. You’d think it would be otherwise, but when we were all children there were not a lot of opportunities to mingle. My mother and I lived in the East or the Midwest, while Aunt Alice and her family lived in Colorado. In addition I am the oldest of my generation, with nine years on Bob, who follows the closest.
Now we’re all middle-aged; in varying stages of raising families; and in equally varying stages of careers and winding them down. Naturally, I’m somewhat ahead of Bob, Dave, Kathy, and Steve. Not that it’s a competition.
Earl and I have made it a tradition to visit Denver at Thanksgiving, and we had a wonderful time yesterday. We love getting together with my aunt’s extended family; we love being treated so royally as special guests; and we love seeing my cousins and their families. It’s only once a year, but it’s a great connection. So when my aunt and uncle go to the Thanksgiving table in the sky I hope to be included in my cousins’ version of the earthly tradition.
That’s what family is about.
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