childhood is better with cousins

I believe I had a happy early childhood.  Truth be told, I do not have many memories of it, one of them my first blog post in May, 2013, called “Once Upon a Time”.  My parents divorced when I was just 6, but it had little impact on me.  As I have few memories of my father living with us, it did not make that much of a difference in my life.  I still saw him and my grandparents often, they were still very much a part of my life, so for me not much changed.  My mother and I went to our cottage for a week each summer, usually the last week before Labor Day, which here in my home state has always been reserved for summer’s last hurrah.  Using the cottage as a base camp, we’d travel to various historic sites around the state, which definitely planted the seeds of my passion for my home state’s history.  We’d spend hours on the beach; I’d build sandcastles and little rivers which would fill with water and create moats around my sandcastles.  As boats passed, their wakes would gradually wash my castles down, which never distressed me, as the river was (and is) meant to change things as it passes by.  

The best was when my cousins would come to stay with us.  There are four of them, all older than I am, all big and boisterous and fascinating.  My eldest cousin always slightly terrified me; he was so much older I had no way of relating (he is actually only maybe 10 years older than I am?).  His sister, next in line, was my idol–she had that perfect 70’s long straight hair and sewed so well she won ribbons at the state fair.  The next brother was a bit less outgoing and turned out to be the brains of us all–he is a doctor now and a wonderful friend.  And then came the youngest, just four months older than I, and always ready to do my bidding.Image(not really us)

One memorable summer frolic with them came when my uncle and my female cousin took the youngest and me canoeing on a twisty, turny, quite “mysterious” little creek that eventually ended up in the river.  With my uncle at the stern and my cousin at the bow, my little cuz and I were merely passengers on the ride.  The creek was so overgrown that several times the “grown ups” paddled the canoe under fallen trees; they’d actually crawl over the trees while we’d lay down on the canoe bottom and sneak under the hazards.  I was terrified every time that happened–what if there was a spider just waiting under that tree to come and get me???

At night we’d sit at the dining table after dinner and play “spoons”, a card game that involved passing cards around until you gathered three matching cards, then reaching for a spoon on the table making sure you were not the last one to grab one.  My cuz and I always lost; our arms were the shortest and it was hardest for us to grab stealthily.

My cousins were all witness to my mother’s behavior at my daughter’s wedding.  They were all there when she stormed out, denied her desired moment in the spotlight.  Some of them were staying with us at the time, and actually read the childish emails sent to me when I asked what had gone wrong.  While I do not ask my cousins to choose sides, I want them to know exactly what their aunt is capable of, exactly what horrible conditions she allowed me to live in, exactly what awful choices she has asked me to make.  I can only hope that were push to come to shove, they would support me and encourage me.  I believe they would.