Cousins

We claim kin says my cousin Mary to my girlfriends.  And within minutes, it feels like we've all known each other forever.

Although Mary and I knew one another marginally growing up in the same county in New Jersey, a couple of years' difference in age and a less-than-close relationship between our parents meant that cousin was an endearment that lived in heart more than practice.  But happenstance brought us together fifty-plus years later when my daughter began grad school in Mary's southern town.  And now, less than two years later, we never miss an opportunity to get together when I visit.

Tonight was one of those occasions.  Mary and two of her daughters and I and my two girlfriends dined and talked and laughed for a couple of hours at an outdoor table in lovely Mizner Park.  By the time the sun set, we were full . . . of food and stories and contentment.  We were all kin.

Mary suggested that perhaps her mother (my Aunt Georgie) and my father (her Uncle Val), sister and brother, had arranged this happenstance of geography from afar.  I'm willing to buy that.  My father, an often cold and angry man (from my viewpoint anyway), missed the opportunity to let his children form close bonds with their cousins.  Perhaps he is now righting that wrong?  One of my favorite pleasures from this new connection with my cousin is listening to the stories her mother would tell her about her little brother.  I think I have learned more about my father, the boy, than I ever learned from him.  He just didn't tell me any stories.

We have much to look forward to.  Not all of our combined seven adult children have met one another yet.  But they will.  We will see to it.

I know you are reading this, Mary.  Thank you for so graciously allowing my children and me into your life.  I am in love with my cousins . . . for real this time.