Reunions

The Way You Look Tonight

Posted by

3

securedownload-18I spent the weekend in Pueblo, Colorado at a family reunion. It was the first time Eric met many of my relatives and I was touched again and again by the way everyone welcomed him into the family. I had been a little nervous about sharing that part of who I am with relatives that I only see a handful of times in a decade, but it turned out to be great.

Still, if there was one moment that defined the reunion for me, it was Saturday night after the meal when they moved the tables to turn the church fellowship hall into a dance floor. I posted a picture on Instagram and Facebook and it’s probably the most popular picture I’ve ever posted. I posted this picture of my parents dancing to the Frank Sinatra cover of The Way You Look Tonight. I’m no Diane Arbus, surely, but I do think I captured a lovely moment between the two of them.

My folks must have felt like the Brad and Angelina of the reunion because joining me in the quest to get a great picture of them were about 10 or 15 of my cousins. Mom and Dad would look at the camera, smile and then keep dancing. I’ve always known and been comforted by how much my cousins love and look after my parents.

You don’t live into your 70’s without having some lows and highs in your journey. You can expect heartbreak and belly laughs, illness and healing, embarrassments and proud moments to weave together in the fabric that is your life. My parents, of course, are no exception. As they danced together, I thought of the highs and lows, their story of love. If you read my blog regularly, you might know about my Father’s three battles with cancer, the toll it took on his body and, at times, his spirit. And you might know that he couldn’t have survived and thrived without the support of my Mother who doesn’t always give herself credit for how strong she is. But there they were, on the dance floor, hand in hand, cheek to cheek as Frank sang for them.
securedownload-20
That night I thought about all the stories of the reunion. I thought about the festive Christmas Eve’s with St. Joseph’s spaghetti and fried bread at my Uncle Rocky and Aunt Barbara’s house. I thought how this was the first reunion without my Uncle Sam, who died a few months ago; his absence was felt. I missed my Aunt Cathy who wasn’t able to be there this year, but asked her nieces and nephews to post many pictures on Facebook for her. (We were happy to oblige.) And I was moved to see my Uncle Mike and Aunt Marlene, who’ve weathered much themselves, also on that dance floor. Some cousins danced, some cousins sat and talked. I don’t think I was the only one a little awash in complex, vivid memories. Reunions are bittersweet occasions.

Anyway, the reunion is over. I’m back at home, drinking my morning coffee, two dogs begging to be taken for their first walk of the day. My heart is still in Pueblo, but it’s also right here in Los Angeles, too. For as long as I live, not just when I’m awfully low or when the world is cold, when I hear this song, a song I never thought too much about previously, I’ll think of this reunion and of my parents and, well, fondly remember the way they looked that night.

Guest Blogger, Theresa Barnhart: Reunions

Posted by

2

484332_3040530627217_533674844_nThe family on my Mother’s side has a big reunion coming up in a few weeks. It’s the first reunion that won’t be attended by my Uncle Sam, a larger than life personality who from the time he was a teenager and his own Father died, had been the acting patriarch of his family. Sam Petramala passed away on March 29, 2014. This reunion will not be the same without him and I know that my Mother is one of the people who will feel his absence the most. A quick story: at another reunion a few years back, my Mother became suddenly ill and we had to take her to the emergency room, where we spent a good portion of one of the days. That evening, when my Uncle saw my Mom as we came back into the hotel, he burst into tears once he saw her. He was a 70-something year old man who wept at the thought of one of his baby sisters being in pain. He always was her protector and I believe, from his current vantage point, he still is. All this is to say that I know my Mom misses her brother and I thought that if I asked her to write about reunions, it would give her a chance to share a little about the brother who was like a father. He was a dear man and this family reunion will not be the same without him.

Reunions

Ray asked if I would write about a family reunion we are going to this month. Webster’s Dictionary said reunion is reuniting, the coming together of a group which has been separated for a period of time. I checked the Thesaurus and added these words: rejoining, reconciliation, homecoming, get together. The more I think about reunions, I realize there are many reunions. The military person returning home to his/her family. The excitement of seeing the smiling faces and shouts of children saying “daddy I missed you!” The family dog greets them with kisses (licks) on the face. What a happy reunion and wonderful day. Another reunion which has a bittersweet homecoming is the person who died serving his country, the casket draped with the American Flag. Just recently a service man from this area came home to his final resting place. 62 years he was separated from his family and friends. He casket was met at the airport in Tulsa and escorted home to Caney, Kansas. He was honored by so many people who never knew him just respected and appreciated what he did for his country.

Another bittersweet homecoming is to come together to celebrate the life of a person who has departed from us. It is said a funeral is for the living. I believe this. It’s a time when people come together to remember and celebrate the life of this person. We gather together to support each other as we mourn for this person. In our family, we recently came together to honor and celebrate the life of my brother Sam. He struggled the last three years of his life so we could make more memories with him. Now he is at his eternal home. Rest in peace, my brother. We all love and miss you so very much.

This month we will have a family reunion. It is an event which happens every two years. If I remember right it was started by a group of family who came together for a funeral. They decided we needed to meet for a happy occasion. Family will come from Canada, Utah, Colorado, and many more states to numerous to mention. It is a big event for us! It is a time to greet each other and renew our hearts and minds. There will be great food, (Italians always have food) games, a banquet, did I mention food, and on Sunday a family picnic with lots of food! We will play games, and recognized the oldest family member and the youngest family member. Lastly during this weekend we will share stories, pictures and we will remember those who went before us to their eternal home and they will greet us when we go to our final reunion.

Class of ’84 Reunion

Posted by

14

The-Breakfast-ClubI grew up in a small town. I guess that’s been established at this point. On Facebook this weekend, the class of ’84 held a thirty year class reunion. I have many friends in that class, also my cousin is in that class. They were all seniors when I was a sophomore and I remember looking up to many of them.

A few years ago, at their 10 year reunion a class member drunkenly confronted another class member about being a jerk in junior high and high school. If I recall, the victim threatened physical violence on his tormentor. It was a story with traction, I heard about it several times from several sources in the years that followed.

It was a story that stuck with me because that confronted tormentor was one of my tormentors too. In fact, of all the verbal abuse I received growing up, I must say that Karl Johnson’s (pseudonym) words stung the most and had the most enduring effects. And before I go further, if you are thinking I should have let this go by now, let me agree wholeheartedly. I should have let this go by now.

What was Karl Johnson’s crime? Every day of 7th grade, he would call out loudly names like Fag and Gay Ray as I stood in the lunch line. He and his friends would sit at a table near the lunch line and make fun of various targets as they passed. Karl would call out the name and his cohorts would erupt into laughter. This lasted my entire 7th grade year, every day. It was something I fretted over every night as I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, and every morning when I dreaded going to school.

So when someone else confronted Karl Johnson at his ten year reunion, all I really thought was, wow, good for him. I heard that Karl Johnson attempted an apology. In the years since high school, he’d become quite religious and considered himself a very good person.

I know that as far as bullying stories go, it’s a fairly average one. And I am okay. Since, I’ve started this blog, strangers have pointed out emotional and pathological issues that they think I have and I think you might be right. I am flawed and I am scarred. I try to move forward and love myself and make the world a better place, but, well, there is always a but.

When I saw the pictures of smiling Karl Johnson and his wife at the reunion, my heart started pumping and all I could think about was 12-year-old me and the fear I had every day. My cousin who had been friends with Karl Johnson and always sat at his lunch table, apologized several years ago about sitting there and never discouraging his friend. At a dive bar in Kansas City over pints of Boulevard hefeweizen, he told me he realized that must have been hard for me. I had to hold back tears because, I remind you, I was in a dive bar in Kansas City, but also, I didn’t want him to see how affected I was by his apology. I wanted to be manly.

Of course, I’m not really manly most of the time. I am sensitive, I do cry. My voice is nasally. I was and still am an easy target for people who want to call me names or point out my perceived flaws.

Maybe this is a story you relate to. I think some are better than others at leaving past hurts in the past.
Forgiveness is not really one of my strengths.

I do keep looking at this picture of Karl Johnson and his wife. I look at her, and while I may be wrong, she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who would love that her husband was the bully of his junior high, flagrantly homophobic. (Although to be fair, wasn’t everyone flagrantly homophobic in 1980 Kansas?) Maybe he is a kinder person now, maybe she is the reason he is a kinder person now. I don’t know. I’ll probably never know.

I do feel little lighter. My heart has returned to a normal patter. In truth that reaction might have been partly attributed to this morning’s first cup of coffee.

It was all so long ago anyway. Let it go.