One Sunday in August
I have a very large family. Well, not my immediate family; that’s pretty small–just the three of us. But my family is huge. I’ve got 4 older brothers, 8 neices and nephews, and countless aunts, uncles, and cousins. When my paternal grandmother died 3 years ago, she was personally responsible for adding 100 people to the global population count; I’ve lost track of the number of births in the family since then.
But I haven’t lost track of the family That’s because no matter where we go or how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, everyone knows that on the third Sunday in August we can show show up at Uncle Brian’s place and reconnect with family.
It’s a family tradition that’s been going on for nearly as long as I can remember, this annual gathering of the clan. Over the years we’ve watched Brian turn a few barely cleared acres of land out on the edge of nowhere into his own personal paradise. What started out as a trailer sitting in the middle of the forest has morphed into an entire compound filled with play equipment, volleyball and badminton courts, mobile homes galore, firepit and even a personal pond/swimming hole. What hasn’t changed though is the swarm of children fishing off the dock, eating coutless ears of corn, and clamouring for just one more wagon ride around the complex.
Oh, the children themselves have changed, of course. That’s just the way life works. But the fact that there are still sticky faced children racing through the clusters of lawnchairs is a testament to the permanance of Family. We may not see each other often–sometimes not even annually–and we may not be able to immediately put a name to each and every face, but we keep coming back to join in and reaffirm that we are family, and no matter how tenously, we are connected.
When these annual reunions began, I was one of those children. I was one of the little ones left in the care of older cousins while my parents kept a slightly less watchful eye–free to socialize with the Adults knowing that the children were with family. As the years ran on, I became one of the cousins, happily tending to the babies of the cousins who had minded me. Babies like Taylor, the girl in the picture who is clearly not a baby anymore. Now, I bring my own 2 girls to Uncle Brian’s and confidently leave them in Taylor’s care, knowing that they will be safe and well cared for by this girl I’ve watched grow up, one Sunday in August at a time.
There’s something very settling and reassuring about the sense of permanence this event brings to my life. That life may feel like an ever changing dance, but some steps, at least, repeat. Someday I imagine Taylor herself will arrive on the third Sunday in August with her own children in tow. And then Regan and Sabrina will be the girls on the wagon ride keeping the little ones occupied and safe. Because on this one day, we are all connected regardless of how disconnected we may be in our everyday lives.
I couldn’t ask for a better family. Or a better wya to spend the third Sunday in August.