The Cousin Experience

My father was in the middle of fifteen children. My mother is the oldest of ten. Catholic families. Close families. We know there was some dysfunction and minor separation within families, but that was minimal and when we were all together we all blended into the fold and were just happy to see each other. Holidays, weddings, funerals, brunches, graduations, ball games and barbecues, We watched each other grow and bloom from children to teens to adults. We did so with faith, fear, unity, support, laughter, tears and eachothers' undying friendship.

Looking back, I am thankful for the cousin experience. I can not imagine my life without those bonds. The four children in my family were all adopted. We were loved deeply and cherished by our parents. But we could not have known, upon being welcomed into our immediate family, that we would inherit the larger love of a close-knit extended family. As we settled into our lives as children, we were sprinkled into the mix of cousins, finding those near our age and sharing much in common.

I think I remember the teen years most of all. I struggled to belong in the harsh reality of adolescence, wanting respect and acceptance from my school peers. For whatever reason, I didn't feel like I fit and it was a huge burden for me at the time. Those family gatherings impressed on me that there was a place I would always belong. While there was some level of competition with cousins, there was a larger perception of us as a team (confirmed in the many pictures of us together over the years.) I played sports with my cousins. We discovered music and movies together. We danced, we sang. We made dares and took risks. We shared secrets and made promises. Sometimes we made mistakes...together. We challenged each other and we praised each other.

I am far from my big family now. I chose to be where I am and I have few regrets. Short visits back to Iowa remind me how much I miss that incredible group of people though. I am grateful for all the time I have had with them and look so forward to sharing my family even more in the years to come.

A few anecdotes, mostly for cousins who will read.  Two weeks of golf, swimming, Batman, Steve Martin, then eating Maderites and playing on the plane in Marshalltown with Pat and Greg every summer. Jimmy, Tony and me as the three musketeers. Having peanut butter and honey sandwiches and sugared cereal at the Reidy's (things my frugal, health-conscious mother denied us). Singing Bad Bad Leeroy Brown, more than once with McGrane-side cousins. The awe of visiting my cousin Jimmy Craig who was allowed to drive a golf cart at age 10 (on the course where his dad was the pro.) Getting to hang in the country with Tony and shooting a bee bee gun for the first time...Labor Days at that house, one where we picnicked under ominous clouds and saw Martin and Lewis reunite on the Telethon. Sharing my graduation celebration with my cousin John (who stole the name I was to have because he was born first! So I got Timothy John.) Meeting up with Cara in college and sharing stories, since she roomed with a high school friend of mine and mourning Cara too few years later. A poignant moment with my cousin Jim Reidy on a busy night before his wedding, singing Elton John songs while he played the piano. Oh, I forgot, a memorable kegger with aforementioned Jim Reidy where some aunts paid us a visit (party poopers) and Jim...split! Many more simple yet wondrous moments that won't fit into the space of my brain or this blog.

Facebook has changed life for us all. Now we know things we would never contact each other to tell. But we can celebrate the high points of our lives and support each other during the low points, even from miles and miles away. Cousins, I love you all!

FEAR

There was a moment yesterday, as I walked from my car to a site where I visit one of the participants I work with, that I felt uncomfortable (to say the least.) I watched a man walk from a corner where I know drugs are sold swiftly toward me. In the end, he was walking to somewhere else and not toward me at all. But fear overtook me, briefly. I have had this experience before. The moment was brief because I knew that most times my fear is unfounded. I also know my friends and my cousin were murdered unexpectedly. After my good friend died, 20-some years ago, I made my way into the heart of the city, maybe to show I was not afraid. Not too long after another friend was murdered, I fled to the countryside. I never proved  or escaped anything. I've lived in "bad" neighborhoods and been threatened with violence more than a few times over these many years and, on a good day, I remember that I am a vessel of love. On a bad day, I imagine the worst. But, honestly, there is nothing worse than believing another person wants to harm you (even if they do.) I dig deep to see the goodness in others. I know for sure there have been times that I have diffused violence by demonstrating my belief (at minimum my hope) in someone's goodness. I like to profess non-violence on a larger scale, but I have to profess it locally and constantly if I really believe it is the way, God's way.

Christmas and Revival

Christmas snuck up on me this year. I have been experiencing mysterious pain and my thoughts have been scattered for awhile. I have started to enjoy distraction (from the pain) in whatever form it comes. But she does not distract me. She revives me- in every word she says, every silly smile and every screech of joy. She marches through life believing each day is hers to relish. Why not? She is virtually untarnished and she sees the world in its innate beauty. I just follow and soak her in. I field her questions and try to keep her healthy and whole, body and soul. I know that I would die for her and, as the pain in my body spreads and intensifies, I discover that I want to live for her. It is a gift to be alive, to have a chance to celebrate the holiness of holidays and to be in the presence of unbridled emotion.

Carnival

We went to the church carnival last night. It's an annual event and we look forward to it. As we brewed in the steamy night, a few things occurred to me. First, I was thankful I had left my phone in the car and was able to capture moments with my wife and daughter that I may have forced myself to observe through a digital lens otherwise. I have to admit I put my hand in my pocket a few times out of habit, wanting to take a picture or see what time it was or if I had a text. I do like to share pictures. The cell phone is a valuable tool in that respect. I know that family and friends appreciate being able to see our precious Valeria and that when they see her joy they are able to get a sliver of it. But it was equally valuable to take some time, tech free, to soak it all in and feel the summer sweat consume us in under the lights of the carnival in the dark night.

The second thing I observed troubled me. I have said it was a hot night. Obviously, people dressed for the weather. But I was disturbed by the attire of young girls, some not yet even teenagers. This remark is by no means prudish. I am not condemning these girls or suggesting they need to be on a leash. Part of the disturbance in my mind was that I was noticing. I was not looking up to see girls, but I was glancing at what I thought might have been attractive women, occasionally to realize they were children. My reflections, briefly interrupting the sweet smell of funnel cakes, focused on my role. I silently vowed to try to play less of a role in objectifying women with the hope that other men will join me and young girls will not feel compelled to look sexy to get the attention they already deserve.

Speak Easy

Hearing the unfamiliar sound of an accent seems to be pleasurable for most of us in most cases. I hope this is true because, at heart, we welcome the differences in culture in our world. I believe we should be careful, however, about pointing out accents to people who have them. We should also remember that we all have accents. Just because someone is in our neck of the woods doesn't mean that they don't hear an accent as well.

No reason to be ashamed that a particular accent sounds sexy, alluring or mysterious. But when you tell someone that, you are really pointing out the differences between you and it is a very one-sided train of thought, since you are assuming they don't hear your accent and they are the only one who has the accent. You would not say to someone, Ï love how dark your skin is" or Ï really like your big breasts".  Yet, because telling someone you love their accent might not be as severe as the previous examples, when you "complement" someone on their accent, they may say "thank you." Listen close. I have observed that this can be the kind of thank you that aunt Betsy gets for a bone-crushing hug.

This one's mine, but I'll share: I Remember...

I remember being held high in the air, Father Donovan fishing a golf ball from the suer with a coat hanger, our beater of a station wagon, the neighbor Brian and running from beebees.....I remember Cub Scouts and a clothing drive and knowing Grandpa had died...I remember the railing and the stairs to our upstairs bedroom that stretched the length of the house and I remember the rectangle carpet squares that covered the room sometime after Terri got stitches in her chin from sliding on a pillow down the tile..I remember the Christmas Tree parties and the maple tree in the front yard and shaking flashlights to make a strobe...I remember walking dad his last few blocks home while he walked his bicycle, the neighbors grandchildren and their snakes and the creek that connected us with everyone in our neighborhood...I remember Armstrong's popcorn balls, a real walk to school, sledding at recess...I remember wrestling and losing and winning and feeling something in my bones...I remember a big sparkly icon we called God reigning above the altar, my First Communion, my First Confession and karate in the front yard with my cousins...I remember the smell of chlorine at the Y, being buzzed through the door, mom waiting and thinking I might drown...I remember mowing lawns and eating lick-a-sticks and catamarans on skateboards down the church hill...I remember Big Macs for helping Sister Judy, flag football in the rain, discovering love (puppy and otherwise)...I remember seeing Grease in the theatre, pitching nickels in the bathroom, looking for someone to sit with at the football game...I remember the first taste of beer, the long buzzes and short hangovers, smoking Marboro Reds and walking the streets in summer...I remember learning to drive, the terrible drunk night, the days after and knowing I'd survive...I remember long days of golf as a kid, as a teenager, as a man-never long enough those days- one solid drive and HEAVEN- really!...I remember Jesus and Christ-like (ness) and Merton and Berrigan and mass in my parents house, mass in a gymnasium in El Passo, mass at the Worker, mass during lunch break, mass for the funerals- my family, my friends....I remember Doobie Brothers and Rod Stewartand John falling asleep in his breakfast and mass at his wedding and mass at Jimmy's wedding where we posed as a full football squad for the wedding picture...I remember late nights and endless nights and wondering and wishing and trying (to be loved)..I remember roads- gravel and paved- leading and descending on foot, holding hands, on a motorcyle; tears blown dry to my face, roads to big houses, from big farms, to parties, from cemeteries, roads and highways....I remember spinning through the snow  and ice while my dad was dying and my uncle was dead, hiding and afraid, afraid of Death like never before...I remember meals, big and small, hot and cold, lively and mundane, breaking bread under a shelter where bees begged for our sandwiches somewhere near Washington DC on a family vacation...I remember breaking bread at the Brown Bottle for Homecoming, breaking bread at our huge family gatherings, breaking bread with my wife, my wonderful wife, my sweet giving wife and her family here, in Mexico, here again and again...I remember proposing in the parking lot ourside of Sears...I remember finding out...guessing then knowing that SHE would be ours...holding her the first time and handing her to Amada, naming her after my mom, all of the first times we shared her with those we love who love us...I remember her on my knee watching the Phillies, her little hands and feet, her first sprinting steps, her wiggling and dancing in her crib...and NOW wiggling and dancing and singing everywhere with everyone...and soooo much more! I don't want to forget EVER!

It really does take a village!

Parenting is ripe with unique privileges and challenges.

Every day is a new improvisational experience. You can observe our child and know she is ours from her physical traits, perhaps.

But you might not see all of the other passionate personalities that help to enhance her joyful existence.

Our family and friends join us in this endeavor; changing diapers, reading books, telling the stories she demands, taking walks, playing tag, putting together her toys.

It is our privilege to share her with you and we are eternally grateful for the love that you share.