Friday, January 04, 2008
Far Away Family
Since the good people of Iowa and New Hampshire have lifted from weary Hoosier shoulders the burden of selecting our country’s next presidential candidates, my wife and I had time over the holidays to visit family. In capitalism, as you know, ambitious young people pack a trailer after college and all but abandon their families in pursuit of career and happiness. As a result, these right-thinking Americans get to do all the driving at Christmas for years to come.
So once again my little clan of patriots crossed the icy plains. Illinois got its gray from the bark of the brushy trees and from the low clouds that crossed our path all day. One town tempted us with a likely looking place called Family Restaurant, where the potato soup tasted like flour but the home-style burger was pretty good. I started looking forward to seeing my folks.
By early evening the headlights and taillights on a St. Louis highway were bunched up in rush hour traffic. On the city street, a driver talking on her cell phone cut us off in our own lane. A block later she slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of her. By the time we arrived, we were awfully happy to be out of the car, hugging parents and grandparents and cousins, home for the holidays at last.
My kids don’t know their grandparents the way I knew mine, and that’s disappointing. When you’re the far-away branch of the family, you miss out on the middle stages of life. Since our last visit, the young cousins are taller and deeper of voice. One older cousin is a few months away from deployment to Iraq, and his sister has enlisted in the Navy. College didn’t have the appeal she thought it would have.
We out-of-towners are off the hook, too, when it comes to hometown emergencies. We hear second hand about the move to the nursing home, the hour-long conversation in the parking lot that slowly persuaded an ailing relative that she should enter the building. “Does this mean I won’t get to go back to my house?” she asked. “I don’t think I’d like that.” Out of hard necessity her life of independence drew to a close.
Some things haven’t changed. My father is happy to help me find a better cell phone. My mother is still a genius with children, I see, as she teaches her out-of-town grandchild to play Chinese checkers. The game is a hit. Everybody is happy to see us, happy to hear our news, but – am I wrong? – not quite as happy as they’d be if our lives were more entwined with theirs. It’s just a little low key, not quite as rich as it might have been.
We slip out to see some old friends, then have lunch on the town and visit the art museum, where a mild nostalgia sets in. Here are the toes of the mummy I loved as a kid; here is the basket of buzzing Impressionistic apples I looked at as a young adult trying to understand art. But what’s this? A new painting, a moonlit bay, dark silhouettes of bare-masted sailboats at anchor, and the line of reflected light cutting across the water and dividing the night in two. It’s beautiful, I think, and if I still lived there, this painting would be part of my life.