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Here are second cousins, sons of two of my nephews. Second cousins are of the same generation, and they have different grandparents but the same great-grandparents, in this case my mom and dad. At the cottage clean-up day, Asher, on the left, was shy at first. But pretty quickly he and Aden realized they had probably met before (lots of times) and they must like the same things. The rest of the day they were inseparable.
Here they are at the spring 2007 cottage clean-up day, Aden on the left this time.
I myself had one cousin. And she died young. I have no memories like this.
Well I would have been playing with dolls, not cars.
Do you see three-year-olds? Or future old men?
My one cousin was Marjorie. I think I met her twice, maybe three times. In fact I had so little contact with her I forgot her name and had to ask Bootsie. I was remembering "Melanie." She and my father's brother, Uncle Jimmie, lived in Richmond and it was a big deal if they, or we, made the long road trip to visit. I never met Aunt Virginia, who died before I was born. One Thanksgiving when I was about eleven, they came. Marjorie was already a mature fragile Southern flower, and maybe I would have pictured her like Blanche DuBois if I had known Tennessee Williams' character then. Her skin was pale, her hair the color of the lightest salmon maple leaf. She hardly spoke, and if she did, it was in a soft Virginian voice of grace. She was modest, unsure. We shared a room that week, and I don't remember a word passing between us. I knew she suffered a mental fragility, related in part to her mother's mental illness, which was triggered at the time of Marjorie's own birth. I didn't know how to talk to such a person. A couple decades later when she died, there was mystery and suspicion around the circumstances. Supposedly it was suicide, but my uncle, who believed in everyone, was certain that her husband, whom she had met in a hospital and who was not unlike Stanley Kowalski, was responsible.
Why share all that in a post about three-year-old cousins who rediscover the joy of boyhood every time they meet? To show that there are some things we learn later in life, like how cousins can be good friends. Don't we as parents try to make our children's lives better than our own, in whatever ways we can? It's the nature of our Instinct. All possibilities are reborn with every new child.
Right, DeeDee? Welcome to sweet little Lily.
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Here are second cousins, sons of two of my nephews. Second cousins are of the same generation, and they have different grandparents but the same great-grandparents, in this case my mom and dad. At the cottage clean-up day, Asher, on the left, was shy at first. But pretty quickly he and Aden realized they had probably met before (lots of times) and they must like the same things. The rest of the day they were inseparable.
Here they are at the spring 2007 cottage clean-up day, Aden on the left this time.
I myself had one cousin. And she died young. I have no memories like this.
Well I would have been playing with dolls, not cars.
Do you see three-year-olds? Or future old men?
My one cousin was Marjorie. I think I met her twice, maybe three times. In fact I had so little contact with her I forgot her name and had to ask Bootsie. I was remembering "Melanie." She and my father's brother, Uncle Jimmie, lived in Richmond and it was a big deal if they, or we, made the long road trip to visit. I never met Aunt Virginia, who died before I was born. One Thanksgiving when I was about eleven, they came. Marjorie was already a mature fragile Southern flower, and maybe I would have pictured her like Blanche DuBois if I had known Tennessee Williams' character then. Her skin was pale, her hair the color of the lightest salmon maple leaf. She hardly spoke, and if she did, it was in a soft Virginian voice of grace. She was modest, unsure. We shared a room that week, and I don't remember a word passing between us. I knew she suffered a mental fragility, related in part to her mother's mental illness, which was triggered at the time of Marjorie's own birth. I didn't know how to talk to such a person. A couple decades later when she died, there was mystery and suspicion around the circumstances. Supposedly it was suicide, but my uncle, who believed in everyone, was certain that her husband, whom she had met in a hospital and who was not unlike Stanley Kowalski, was responsible.
Why share all that in a post about three-year-old cousins who rediscover the joy of boyhood every time they meet? To show that there are some things we learn later in life, like how cousins can be good friends. Don't we as parents try to make our children's lives better than our own, in whatever ways we can? It's the nature of our Instinct. All possibilities are reborn with every new child.
Right, DeeDee? Welcome to sweet little Lily.
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