This past weekend my extended family on my dad’s side gathered at the Stuart Robinson School in Eastern Kentucky for our annual family reunion. SRS used to be a boarding school for students who were unable to navigate the mountainous roads and weather back in the day. Today it’s been modernized and is rented out to different kinds of church and scout groups. It’s actually perfect for our family, since it’s close to our original home place, has dorms for the whole family as well as a working, air-conditioned kitchen.
We’ve been getting together fairly regularly for the last 35 years, I think. At that time, I was only 14 or so and several of the grandchildren hadn’t even been born. We met at Boonesboro State Park back then. My dad and uncles played softball and basketball and someone always turned his ankle. We also dealt with the hot weather as we set up our food using an outdoor pavilion, without running water. Keep in mind, we were all younger and tougher back then.
These days, the uncles play horseshoes and cornhole, and the aunts require air conditioning in their kitchen as well as a clean bathroom to use. You know, it’s a kinder, gentler reunion, with auctions, talent shows, and scavenger hunts. Although, just like my popaw taught us, we like to win even if it means cheating. And, if someone should tell you they're not cheat, they’ve just taken a break from cheating to lie to you.
Anyway, I’m not sure if we’ve ever all been in attendance at any one reunion. (There’s a bunch of us. . . 11 children (and spouses), 18 grandchildren (and spouses), 22 greats and even one great-great as of this minute.)
I don’t think anyone takes roll or anything official, but I do know that my grandpa died before we ever had the first reunion, and he’s probably the one who would have enjoyed them most. We buried my granny ten plus years ago. Then, of course, soon after, we somehow let Wib, a beloved grandson, slip through our fingers – we don’t talk about it much – a tragedy too terrible for words. But our hugs to each other last a little longer and each of us is more aware of the preciousness of time. So, with those goodbyes, I guess we’ll never ALL really be together.
As with any family, especially a large one, we are as functionally dysfunctional as they come. Our different perceptions of the same experiences make for feelings and thoughts that leave us confused at the least and profoundly hurt on the other end. The thing you gotta love about us, though, is we keep coming back, showing up for each other.
We are diverse in our religious, political, social, and environmental beliefs. Our bumper stickers prove that point. Well, actually, we are diverse in everything, except the big brown eyes that tend to dominate our gene pool.
With each new flight from our collective “Collins nest” we seem to move further from these beloved mountains. Nate’s in New Mexico, Sherry’s family lives in Michigan, Jewell’s in North Carolina, and, for now, Sam hangs his hat in New Jersey, where they don’t even serve gravy on biscuits!
For me, though, all of our differences make it even more amazing how deeply we really do love one another. How we each carry this need to be part of this family, to be labeled as belonging to Charlie Collins. And when we find our way to Letcher County, we all feel that we’ve found our way home.
This year, I got the opportunity to hang out with my 2nd cousin Jakob. Jakob is four years old, and he convinced me to take a walk with him over the grounds. We found a robin’s egg shell, mushrooms, walnuts, and stick/guns. I couldn’t help but think how the two of us were connected. His mother and I are first cousins, his grandmother is my father’s sister. His great-grandfather was my grandfather. In other words, we probably don’t have the same blood type or anything.
Yet we found ourselves together on this beautiful summer day, delighting in the mere presence of each other. We trusted one another not because we knew the other – he probably still doesn’t know my name! – but because the circumstances of the gathering dictated we could – after all, we’re family. Somehow, we knew. . . Jakob as well as I.
After our first walk, the aunts called us in to eat the noon meal. We circled up holding hands to say a prayer. Even though we think we’re fairly modern, our mountain ancestors still come through as “one of the men” traditionally prays. This year Jakob volunteered.
His voice rang out sweet and strong as he sang. I think he sang for all of us, the living and the dead, those who chose to be present and those who did not. He sang for great-grandparents he never knew and for the second, third, maybe fourth cousins that have yet to be born.
God our Father, God our Father
We thank You, We thank You
For our many blessings, for our many blessings
Amen Amen
Jakob did not ask God to change anything about our family. He didn’t ask for safety, for healing, for forgiveness. He simply thanked God for the many gifts He had given to this great big family and, for that moment, we were finally all together. I think I even heard Popaw laugh.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Weeds
The school year 2010-2011 will go down in my personal history as the single most difficult class for me to date. My principal said there was “no synergy.” I’m not sure of an exact definition of that word but I think it was just one of many things that was lacking. I’m hoping, though, that the year wasn’t a total wash for the kids. I’m naïve enough to think that there were moments that will perhaps be remembered with a smile.
I know, for me, there were definitely lessons to be learned even on the most unmanageable days. Big lessons. . . like forgiveness, second chances, understanding, even third & fourth chances. But, the biggest lesson for me this year began with the hundreds of dandelions that appeared on our playground seemingly overnight on the first warm day of the year.
The girls picked bouquets of the yellow dandelions while the boys kicked the tops off the flowers that had already turned to seed. (In another, more gentler, year the dandelion heads would have been blown off but this was a different kind of year – remember “no synergy.”)
After recess the kids managed to bring several of the flowers inside and proceeded to ask some noteworthy questions that I used as a jumping off point for some research that would no doubt involve language arts and math. It turned out that the lesson I learned was not the one I had planned.
Somewhere, amid taking apart dandelions for a closer look with a magnifying glass, attempting to count the seeds, contemplating theories as to why they grow so fast, someone asked the question, “Why do people think these are weeds?”
Fairly quickly, Lydia found the definition for a weed on-line, and I was surprised. A weed, simply, is what grows where a gardener doesn’t want it to grow. So, in theory, a rose bush growing in my yard is a weed, if I’d rather not have it there.
As my good friend Mary often says, “It’s all about perception.”
This new knowledge caused me to think about my own children and the dozens of dandelion bouquets they had presented to me over the years during their childhood. Believe it or not, I actually had a special vase for the yellow beauties, and I even added water to these beloved treasures.
My own kids are 24 and 22 now so it’s been awhile since they have presented me with these flowers, and I can’t help but wonder what Spring it was when they saw these plentiful wild flowers as weeds.
I’m not exactly sure when that happened, just as I’m not exactly sure who told them they were weeds. I do know this. . . adults that my children love (Maybe even their mother, God forbid) pointed out that they were weeds by spraying herbicides all over their yards, by making less than flattering comments about other folks’ dandelion-laden yards, and what kid hasn’t had an adult fuss at them for blowing the dandelion seeds all over the place. All of these things served to slowly but very surely switch my kids’ perception of dandelions from a beautiful flower that was the perfect Mother’s Day gift to an ugly weed that is an embarrassment to any middle-class American.
Unfortunately, I think we do the same thing with people that are “weeds.” You know, people that seem to be where we would rather not have them, like homeless people wandering the streets, poor mothers applying for welfare, women in positions of power, immigrants speaking a different language, gays trying to raise families.
Really, these people are, well, just people, nothing more or less. Just like the dandelion is just a plant. It’s our perception that turns them into unwanted members of our community, members that we label because for whatever reason they make us feel uncomfortable.
The real tragedy is that my children, our children, are listening to the messages we send as we try hard not to make eye contact with the homeless, when we make rude comments about people on welfare, when a strong woman is referred to as a bitch, when we use a different language to exclude immigrants, when we laugh at gay jokes that we think are harmless. And then, suddenly, one warm Spring day, our kids see weeds instead of a mixture of people that all have a story, that are all worthy of a place in our community.
It makes me sad to know that Sam, Will and Carly will never bring me another dandelion bouquet. I only hope they weren’t listening too attentively to the lessons they have probably been taught about people as well. I want them to realize that weeds don’t actually exist, not in the garden, not in our community, not in the world.
I know, for me, there were definitely lessons to be learned even on the most unmanageable days. Big lessons. . . like forgiveness, second chances, understanding, even third & fourth chances. But, the biggest lesson for me this year began with the hundreds of dandelions that appeared on our playground seemingly overnight on the first warm day of the year.
The girls picked bouquets of the yellow dandelions while the boys kicked the tops off the flowers that had already turned to seed. (In another, more gentler, year the dandelion heads would have been blown off but this was a different kind of year – remember “no synergy.”)
After recess the kids managed to bring several of the flowers inside and proceeded to ask some noteworthy questions that I used as a jumping off point for some research that would no doubt involve language arts and math. It turned out that the lesson I learned was not the one I had planned.
Somewhere, amid taking apart dandelions for a closer look with a magnifying glass, attempting to count the seeds, contemplating theories as to why they grow so fast, someone asked the question, “Why do people think these are weeds?”
Fairly quickly, Lydia found the definition for a weed on-line, and I was surprised. A weed, simply, is what grows where a gardener doesn’t want it to grow. So, in theory, a rose bush growing in my yard is a weed, if I’d rather not have it there.
As my good friend Mary often says, “It’s all about perception.”
This new knowledge caused me to think about my own children and the dozens of dandelion bouquets they had presented to me over the years during their childhood. Believe it or not, I actually had a special vase for the yellow beauties, and I even added water to these beloved treasures.
My own kids are 24 and 22 now so it’s been awhile since they have presented me with these flowers, and I can’t help but wonder what Spring it was when they saw these plentiful wild flowers as weeds.
I’m not exactly sure when that happened, just as I’m not exactly sure who told them they were weeds. I do know this. . . adults that my children love (Maybe even their mother, God forbid) pointed out that they were weeds by spraying herbicides all over their yards, by making less than flattering comments about other folks’ dandelion-laden yards, and what kid hasn’t had an adult fuss at them for blowing the dandelion seeds all over the place. All of these things served to slowly but very surely switch my kids’ perception of dandelions from a beautiful flower that was the perfect Mother’s Day gift to an ugly weed that is an embarrassment to any middle-class American.
Unfortunately, I think we do the same thing with people that are “weeds.” You know, people that seem to be where we would rather not have them, like homeless people wandering the streets, poor mothers applying for welfare, women in positions of power, immigrants speaking a different language, gays trying to raise families.
Really, these people are, well, just people, nothing more or less. Just like the dandelion is just a plant. It’s our perception that turns them into unwanted members of our community, members that we label because for whatever reason they make us feel uncomfortable.
The real tragedy is that my children, our children, are listening to the messages we send as we try hard not to make eye contact with the homeless, when we make rude comments about people on welfare, when a strong woman is referred to as a bitch, when we use a different language to exclude immigrants, when we laugh at gay jokes that we think are harmless. And then, suddenly, one warm Spring day, our kids see weeds instead of a mixture of people that all have a story, that are all worthy of a place in our community.
It makes me sad to know that Sam, Will and Carly will never bring me another dandelion bouquet. I only hope they weren’t listening too attentively to the lessons they have probably been taught about people as well. I want them to realize that weeds don’t actually exist, not in the garden, not in our community, not in the world.
Monday, June 6, 2011
One Fine Day
After a really good night's sleep, I woke up late (for me and Grace) and sort of eased into the day. Ate breakfast, read the paper, got ready for church, walked.
Did the Sunday School and church game, which still seems strange, after worshipping at St. Tom Sawyer Park every Sunday morning for the last two summers. After swearing that "I won't ever belong to another church again in this lifetime" four years ago, I officially joined Highland this morning.
This afternoon I read some of Wendell Berry's Hannah Coulter and then took a nap. I talked with Sam; he was taking a vacationing friend's dog for a walk. I talked with Carly; she was on her way to work. I talked with Will; he was on his way home from a Reds game. They lost by the way.
I talked with my mom on the phone, and she's ready for her bunco game tomorrow night. Dad made fudge for her friends since mom is the official hostess.
Cathy and I went to hear Alison krauss and Union Station at the Palace this evening, but after we ate fish sandwiches and french fries at Cunninghams. I ran into Jacquie and her husband. Then we saw Bonnie from school. I bought a t-shirt at the concert.
I got home at midnight, walked Grace, ate a bowl of Life cereal and am now writing down some thoughts for today, except they are more facts than thoughts. So, I guess in thinking about the facts, I've had one fine day.
Did the Sunday School and church game, which still seems strange, after worshipping at St. Tom Sawyer Park every Sunday morning for the last two summers. After swearing that "I won't ever belong to another church again in this lifetime" four years ago, I officially joined Highland this morning.
This afternoon I read some of Wendell Berry's Hannah Coulter and then took a nap. I talked with Sam; he was taking a vacationing friend's dog for a walk. I talked with Carly; she was on her way to work. I talked with Will; he was on his way home from a Reds game. They lost by the way.
I talked with my mom on the phone, and she's ready for her bunco game tomorrow night. Dad made fudge for her friends since mom is the official hostess.
Cathy and I went to hear Alison krauss and Union Station at the Palace this evening, but after we ate fish sandwiches and french fries at Cunninghams. I ran into Jacquie and her husband. Then we saw Bonnie from school. I bought a t-shirt at the concert.
I got home at midnight, walked Grace, ate a bowl of Life cereal and am now writing down some thoughts for today, except they are more facts than thoughts. So, I guess in thinking about the facts, I've had one fine day.
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