This time of year my thoughts always turn to family reunion. I remember Mom would fry up chicken and make a big pot of green beans with potatoes and a little bacon grease. Then she’d fill a large metal thermos full of sweet tea, wrap up the angel food cake and we’d head south down winding two-lane roads.
If it was Mom’s reunion, we would turn off the “hard road” then continue onto an unpaved, often muddy, dirt road. There were, as I recall, three “bridges” we had to negotiate on the dirt road. The bridges consisted of precariously placed 2 x 10’s placed end to end over a scant metal frame spanning a churning creek. It seemed like some sort of initiation. If you survived the bridges you were deemed worthy to continue on to grandma’s house in the wilderness. I can still feel my heart up in my throat as I prayed the tires on that old ’54 Olds wouldn’t miss the slats and go plunging below into the “crick”.
The road to Dad’s reunion was not so dangerous, but what it lacked in danger it made up in length. It seemed we were on the road for days before we finally pulled into that sleepy little town and followed the signs to the park. There was always the burning question: Will it be Mahoney or Karel Park this year?
Dad would drive through the appointed park until we spotted our cousins running loose and aunts and uncles flagging us down. Then Dad would find a place to park and unload that big metal cooler (ice chest we called it back then). As soon as the back door of that old green sedan flew open I was off and running with Mom yelling after me to not get dirty before we eat. Eat? Who wants to eat? There’s swings and monkey bars. There’s merry-go-rounds and…..the slide.
You know, it’s amazing to me now that some “level-headed and thoughtful” parks and recreation person thought it would be a great idea to construct a gigantic child magnet 18 feet into the air and call it a sliding board. Let’s just drop Junior off the bank building, shall we? He’d fare nearly as well. I can remember being angry and crushed that Mom only allowed me to go on the “baby” slide, as I called it. How I resented that. Mother, now my cerebellum and I thank you.
While I played and sweated my curly mop into brown ringlets, the women folk spread out the food on the long picnic tables under the pavilion and took turns swatting flies and finding objects to weight down the corners of the tablecloths that kept blowing up. Finally, my minister uncle would ask the blessing, loud and long. I remember thinking, “This isn’t church. This is a picnic. Is he ever gonna stop?” Finally came “AAAAAAAmen“, then we’d dive in.
As I recall, there were two family reunion rules that had to be strictly adhered to. You could not follow cat fish with ice cream else some gastronomic catastrophe would occur and you could not swim in the lake for at least an hour after eating a hotdog. I’m sure there was some sound Kentucky medical advice in there somewhere.
After nibbling on a chicken leg and downing some grape Koolaid I was off again. I only saw my cousins once a year and I had to make the most of every moment. When everyone had eaten their fill, the ladies covered the food as best they could and sat down to visit. Of course, their sitting was short lived for there was always the squalling kid to check on and scraped knee to attend to. Meanwhile, the men folk laughed and swapped stories. I can still see one uncle’s broad grin, and I remember thinking how much he resembled the picture of Humpty Dumpty in my story book. As I look back on it now it seemed like a segregated affair -- men in one circle, women in the other -- but perfectly normal for that era.
I will always remember the day my mother and two hefty aunts swung merrily on an obviously heavy gauge swing set, and that moment in time was captured in black and white by a Brownie camera. I remember being amazed that (1) my mother was still child enough to do that and (2) that the swing set survived three middle-aged women…simultaneously.
Looking back, it’s odd to think all three ladies negotiated the swings wearing dresses, nylons and what today would be considered dress shoes, while some of the men tossed horseshoes wearing the equivalent of dress pants and white shirts. The sleeves were rolled up, though, which meant “this is a casual affair.” What a different day and age!
As the sun began to dip toward the west, everyone began to gather what leftovers there were and pack everything away. They posed for final pictures and said their goodbyes. I had one last turn on the merry-go-round just to get good and dizzy……one for the road.
I will never forget that one jolly rotund aunt would follow us to the car and tell my mother, “Now, Opal, you take a good look at me, ‘cause next year you’re gonna have to look twice to see me.” She meant that by next year’s reunion she would lose the weight. Year after year, reunion after reunion, she would make the same declaration as we waved goodbye and pulled away.
The only thing more impressive than my aunt’s girth was the breadth of her good intentions. She always intended to do it. She talked about it. She joked about it. She really, honestly believed that one day…..
A few years ago, more than forty years since those family reunions in the park, she passed from this world having never lost more than a few pounds. Her intentions were just not supported by action. It’s sad to think that the family reunion goes on now without her.
My feeble brain can’t even imagine what a reunion we’ll have in Heaven. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, children, cousins….friends who have gone on and the Lord himself making preparation for a wonderful reunion meal. We all have intentions of attending. Only a fool would say “I don’t want to go.” But it takes more than good intentions. It takes more than saying, “One of these days, I’m gonna get right. I’ll serve God when I’m older, when I’m done livin’ it up in this world.” We have no guarantee of another moment, let alone another year. It takes action. It takes determination to make it through. As my mom would say, “You gotta have a made up mind.”
The old song says, “That’ll be a glad reunion day.” Don’t miss it…….and don’t get dirty.
Janice
Author: AGM
| Author's Website: http://absolutelygospel.com/
Written: 06/02/2009
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Category: Janice Crow
Comments: 2
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Thanks for the memories. I recall my uncles getting out their guitars and our sitting together and singing. I learned the words to the song you quoted on these occasions. Yes, Daddy, that will be a glad reunion day.
Cathy, thank you for taking the time to respond. One thing's for certain, Heaven will be even sweeter with our loved ones waiting there. Janice
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