Family reunions, while traditional, are for the birds

Kara Hodge

My grandmother, Gladys Parrish Hodge, had three younger sisters in her family. Each Parrish sister had, on average, two to three children. Those two or three children had two or three children themselves. Now add in divorce, remarriage, adoption and a few random people, and you'll come up with a number close to 80. Quite a crowd in one house, if you ask me.

And that's exactly what I had to deal with this weekend.

The 1st Annual Parrish Family Reunion combined people ranging from ages 2 to 90 into my great-aunt's house this past Saturday for what the invitation called "Good Family Fun and Food." Well, let's just say that the food was good.

Family reunions are ridiculous to me. Unless you're Italian, Irish or you know who your second, third and fourth cousins are, they are unnecessary and painful. Let me explain.

My grandmother passed away eight years ago. Since then, her children and grandchildren have separated themselves from the rest of the Parrish's family. I find that fact normal since the joining link to that extended family is deceased.

The nine that make up the Hodge family celebrate traditional holidays together, we send each other birthday cards, we have big dinners together on weekends when I come home from school-- we know each other's names, for Pete's sake.

So as I entered my great-aunt's house on Saturday, I entered into unknown territory. Before me were children I had never heard of, great-aunts and uncles that I had only looked at in pictures and people that I had never laid eyes on.

Needless to say, it was weird and awkward. I didn't know what to do, or whom to talk to.

Don't get me wrong. I love my family. I love the stories my uncles tell me about my childhood, I love the memories I have made with my two cousins and I love the nicknames my aunts call me.

But for the rest of the Parrish family, I could care less. Why? They didn't know me. Few knew my age, my name or whose kid I was. And the same applied to me. I didn't know them. I spent over six hours that evening trying to figure out who was married to whom, who was divorced and remarried, and which kid belonged to which family. It was a headache.

And after a few people got too drunk to make complete sentences and the children began to get whiny, the nine of us slipped out and went to dinner and drinks at a neighborhood restaurant. We laughed about how silly the entire fiasco had been, and laughed about how normal we were and how weird everyone else was. We toasted to ourselves as a great family.

Family to me is not just people who share the same last name or great-grandmother. My parents, my best friends, and kids I grew up with are my family. They can finish my sentences and have made unforgettable memories with me. They are people who know me well and love me regardless. Family is not whom I spent six hours with on Saturday night.

Family reunions are traditional and a norm for our society. But I think it's for the birds. Or for the Italians.

Taylor's family thanks Appalachian family for support

Jonathan Taylor was on the Appalachian State University van when it was in the accident in Foscoe. Taylor is the student assistant for Mountaineers football, working wherever needed for the coaching staff of the Mountaineers.

Right now he lays in in the Johnson City Medical Center Hospital in Johnson City, Tenn. in the intensive care unit in critical condition. He has a head injury and internal injuries, is on a respirator, and barely responds to all but very basic stimuli. Taylor has squeezed his motherÕs hand once.

While he recovers from injuries, his family waits and watches. With him constantly is his mother, who can only visit him for 15 minutes at at time every two hours. Supporting him are his grandparents, uncle, sister, and niece, who are the most basic components of his family. Supporting this family is the Appalachian family, one that has visited and called and gotten Mrs. Taylor and the rest of Taylor's family through the ordeal with their calls, visits and thoughts.

The family of Jay Taylor wants to thank everyone for their support. All support, thoughts, and visits will need to continue until he is finally recovered, in addition to other passengers in the van as well as the family of John Vincent White III, who drove the car that hit AppalachianÕs van, dying on impact.

The staff of The Appalachian hopes for a speedy recovery for Taylor and all persons involved in the accident, and offers their support and services to anyone in the community who may need it. If you wish to contact the family of Jay Taylor, they can be reached at Johnson City Medical Center Hospital. Though he cannot receive flowers or other packages due to being in intensive care, cards, letters and other items can be sent to William and Ernestine Lloyd, 116 Oak Haven Drive, Danville, VA 24541 or at Donna L. Taylor, 1085 Walnut Creek Road, Danville, VA 24540.

Learning from family can offer links to the past

Jennifer Lancaster

For many people, the words "family reunion" incite terror, fear and loathing. In spite of these intial sentiments, family reunions have become some of my favorite events.

The opportunities to see people I haven't seen in months-- and even years-- are events I'd hoped never to partake in. The thought of a long car ride followed by hugging and corny comments from people I had never met and would rather not be related to was almost more than I could bare.

I was in high school when I finally had the opportunity to attend a family reunion. I remember cringing at the thought of spending a perfectly good day with relatives I had never met and did not care to claim as my own.

When I arrived, I began to see things differently. The reunion was held on a farm in Rockingham County, so I was initially apprehensive about spending quality time walking in the tobacco fields, chatting up the elderlies and being harrassed by bratty cousins.

Soon I began to see things in a different light.

My dad took me to an old farmhouse built at the start of the 20th Century where his cousin's family still lives. When he told me it was the house my grandmother had grown up in, my feelings about the situation changed considerably. I began to really think about what it must have been like for her to grow up with six siblings in a three-bedroom house.

My grandmother had not visited the house in years and her memories came flooding back. As we walked through the tiny bedroom she shared with her sisters, she told me about late nights talking about "beaux" and the men who "came courting."

I couldn't imagine living in the room with one other person, let alone several sisters. I realized how plush my house and living space was with a large bedroom all to myself. However, it also occurred to me that it must have been a special and wonderful way to grow up, creating such strong ties to siblings.

I had never really considered what my grandmother was like in her youth, but this moment gave me an insight into her life I might never have had. She had never shared memories about her childhood and I had never thought to ask. Had I not attended the reunion, I would have missed out on this window into her past.

When we left the house and returned to the more modern one my dad's other cousin's family lived in, I began to imagine my grandmother and great aunts and uncles walking down the same road, playing in the fields, growing up on that very land.

Others began to tell me about their childhoods. Now I was ready to listen, engaged in all they had to share.

As the stories continued, I realized these people were my only link to my past. One of my aunts was compiling a geneology by talking to all of our relatives. Once they were gone, so too would be all the names and stories of my family's past.

When the day drew to a close, I was glad I had come to the reunion. It changed from an experience I dreaded to one I now cherish and look forward to.