Cousins

first friends

Several years ago, while visiting Hawaii to celebrate the life of my brother who had passed a few months prior, I started thinking his in-laws were related to everyone on the islands.

The reason for this was, it seemed all the young people called everyone older, either Uncle or Aunt. My assumption was all were related.

I learned later, or at least I think I am correct, …that it is just a sign of respect and it matters little if they are actually related. I could be wrong.

My sister-in-law introduced us to her extended Hawaiian family. Her contemporaries were all introduced as cousins. Any, more elderly visitors, were referred to as Uncle or Aunt (or Auntie). As we continue on in years, there are fewer and fewer people who can be considered “more elderly.”

This connection with the family there, and all the others we met, encouraged me to think of my own extended family.

I tried to be consistent by staying in touch. Christmas Cards were sent out. Facebook documented we were “Friends” and allowed us to keep up with one another; though at a computer screen’s distance.

My chosen career was with the U.S. Air Force. It meant living in different states and on four occasions, different countries. That was not conducive to staying close to extended family. As it was, we were separated during our youth when our immediate family moved from rural Illinois to Los Angeles. My cousins who had lived all within a 30-mile radius, were now several states separated.

Watching the Hawaiian family interact made me long for similar relationships. Has it been too long?

Cousins are your first friends. I remember seeing that quote on a post somewhere and it made me think.

One of my early childhood memories was running around with our cousins, Billy and Marsha. It was nighttime in the summer. The stars were out and their house was in the country, outside of Fieldon, Illinois (Marsha will surely correct me if I am wrong). We all ran around with glass jars collecting as many lightning bugs as we could. A pencil would be used to pierce holes in the lid to help keep them alive.

It was just fun, doing things with our cousins, our first friends.

At another cousins’ home, Kevin and Dana, we played a game that I will not even try to pronounce, much less spell. It was two groups, lined up across from one another. One group would call out for a member of the opposite group to “send someone (insert name) right over.” At that point, the called out one would run to penetrate the line of the opposite team.

It was fun, it was family, it was cousins.

Decades pass. We no longer run across the dew-covered grass chasing lightning bugs or hurling a cousin from one line to another.

We have continued to interact. We visit on occasion.

Too often, those occasions are funerals or celebrations of life. Several of these meant the Illinois family would travel to California. No one complained of the expense or inconvenience. It was family. It was cousins.

We visit in one another’s homes. We fish in the pond. Some of us have met to ride motorcycles together.

We gather to listen to music at the beautiful riverfront and enjoy a snack and a beverage.

We like one another. We are family. We are cousins.

Last weekend we got together. Billy is no longer with us, but his memory is. We reminisce; we smile. The remaining of us talk of fond memories. Who was a brat? Who was always kind? Who was always getting into trouble?

It really did not matter anymore. What mattered was that we were cousins. We were friends.

We are aging into the slow pace of life. Our host is still in her sixties. Two of us are in our seventies. One we won’t know until the carbon data results are revealed, but she knows who she is.

We played cards. We laughed and teased. We kept score on paper, but the important tally was that we were still cousins, still friends.

I would not trade any of this. I do not know why the bonds are so lasting, but I am happy they are.

Has it been too long? It can never be!