Two Sides

Just as there are two sides to every story (at least 2 sides) there are at least two sides to every person, the mother’s side and the father’s side.

Most of the memories I write about are of my mother’s family.  My grandparents, my mother’s parents, lived well into their 90’s so I had the chance to know them all through my childhood and far into my married life.  They were a major part of my growing up, my early adult life and also a large part of my children’s youth.  This is obvious through my many blogs, which I hope you have enjoyed.

However, there is another side to me, my Father’s side.  I have fragmented, but happy memories of times spent with various members of my Dad’s side of the family.  There were Sunday afternoons when my Uncle Al, my Dad’s brother, who drove a bus, would bring his bus to our home after delivering church members for their services.  He would spend the time while they were in church at our house for Sunday morning bagels and lox.  If the Sunday happened to be a particularly lucky time for me, he would bring his grandson, Jeffry, along for the ride.  I enjoyed those mornings especially because Jeffry was a real good person, fun to spend time with. I always hoped we would spend more time together as we grew older; as of now, we haven’t done so. 

Other memories include cousin clubs where there was always endless food and warm, hearty laughter.  I don’t remember how often the cousins met, but when they did, it was special.  We would always leave with my Dad telling his cousins that they should really get together more often.  But, that never actually materialized and as the older generation passed away, their children, including myself, never continued the precedent. 

My Dad’s sister, my Aunt Elsie, was always an integral part of my life.  She was funny and direct, like my Dad, never really caring about being politically correct.  But, unlike my Dad, she always had and took the time to keep in touch with almost all members of her family, including those who lived far, far away.  She had two sons, my cousins, Bobby and Kenny.  Kenny was the same age as my oldest brother, and so he was about 10 years older than me.  Bobby was the older of the two boys, which, kept us from really knowing each other in the 'early days'.

Being that I was so much younger than my cousins, I didn’t interact with them very much at all while growing up.  My brothers’ reality is probably different in that regard, but then they would need to write a blog to discuss their impressions of those days.

Kenny was the cousin who told me to take a mental picture of those most important in my life while at my wedding.  I will always be so thankful to him for those mental images, as they are truly all I have of the day aside from the pictures the photographer took.  Without those images, I would have no recollection of the occasion from my own perspective.  Kenny was also a caring, competent dentist.  I always had a dental phobia, but when I was first married I had a tooth ache and Kenny told me to come into the office that day, a Sunday, and he would take care of it.  With my new husband as the dental assistant, since the office was closed, Kenny painlessly and without complaint, fixed my tooth.

A few years after that, Kenny married a lovely woman.  Their wedding was, to this day, one of the absolute loveliest I have ever attended.  It was held outside on his property, a large expanse of beautiful grounds.  The sun shone perfectly, it was warm, not hot, and the colors and scents that filled the air enhanced the beauty of the handsome, young couple.  I felt as though I was in the midst of a fairy tale.

Unfortunately, Kenny was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and passed away far too young.  Although, he lived too short a time in years, he lived the years he had fully, enjoyed them completely.  From walking with him to taste the sweet fresh raspberries on his grounds, to talking to him before my wedding, there was something in Kenny that enabled him to enjoy life 100%.  That is a true gift.

This brings me to my cousin, Bobby.  My earliest memories of Bobby were of him when we lived a few houses away from each other.  Our parents had purchased homes on the same block.  Bobby was handsome beyond belief.  I remember one day seeing him on the front porch, sleeping on a lounge chair in the summer sun.  My Aunt’s rose bushes were all around him.  I remember thinking that since I was related to him, how bad could I possibly look??

Bobby left his parents home and lived many interesting places for many years.  I don’t know much about this time in his life, but I know his adventures took him to various places in Canada and also to the sunshine and beauty of Hawaii.  I missed knowing him in those times, and that is definitely my loss, but while I was growing up in suburbia, he was learning and growing and becoming one of the most beautiful men, inside and out, that I will probably ever know.

A few years ago, for some reason, which I honestly don’t remember, I had the chance to sit down and reconnect with my cousin.  What a gift!  We can chat for hours on end and I would want to talk more.  He has experienced so much and has a great ability to see through facades to what is important, love.

I am certainly a lucky lady when it comes to my cousins, on both sides.  They enrich my life with an acceptance and understanding that is unique.  My cousin, Ellen, on my Mom’s side and my cousin, Bobby, on my Dad’s; both of them are not only cousins, but friends, true, deep, caring, loving friends.

There are at least two sides to every story, and at least two sides to every family.  I am so thankful for the two sides of my story that support me and enable me to stand taller than I otherwise could.  From this height, hopefully one day I will see what I need to do.  I will grow up and stand up for the person I am now and the person I am still striving to be.