I went to our family reunion at one of my nephew’s house. Beautiful place on a lake. All kinds of toys like boats and paddle-boards and floating docks. And that was just the lake. The rest of the property had a thriving garden and a rope slide and volleyball nets and bocce balls. Did I mention that my family is Italian? Yeah the food was over-abundant, and all the cookies were ethnic specialties.
Anyway, I mingled and hugged and kissed until at one point I stopped to look for the usual knot of gray-haired elders quietly observing and gently smiling. At first I thought they were hiding—the guys playing cards in a corner and the wives sorting out the food. But then I started scanning, scoping for ‘white hairs’ clustered in clumps. There weren’t any. Passing a mirror I realized that I was the only pale-head in the crowd…well me and my brother, Gus. A moment of truth—we were now the latest against the bookend on the family shelf. Somehow, all those cherished aunts and uncles, who added history and heritage to weddings and baptisms and funerals, had been checked out. I was the current historical touchstone, the recaller of family stories and self-appointed joke teller. Actually, many of those present had heard my store of jokes. Only the very youngest family members had yet to be exposed to my material. Although, I have to say that some of the tweener generations still liked to gather around for a few old groaners…a kinda ‘classics’ review. And I observed some of my nephews and nieces absorbing my pacing and patter for their own story-telling technique.
It took a while to relax and gradually let it sink in that I was now at the end of the runway—next for take off. I have to say, it didn’t hurt that there was a touch of elder-respect coming my way. I learned to graciously accept unasked-for second desserts and offers of more coffee. It was fun to be part of the mix, one of the old dogs snuffling and sniffing in the middle of the pack. But it was a bit daunting to realize that I had probably arrived at my ‘sell by’ date. I decided to enjoy it all while I could.
Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. Read more at https://freefloatingstories.wordpress.com/
