Reunions: The way of family

By Gina Grillo Stearns

(In memory of Josephine P. Grillo: 1930-1982)

I was raised during the “Wonder Years”… an amazing time when one could still enjoy the vestiges of the clean, respectful influence of the 50's, and probably because of them, had the bravado to forge against the very establishment that blessed us. The 60's and 70's were an era swirling in colorful protests of Vietnam, indulgence in ”Free Love”, and expressions of psychedelic pop culture. Flowers were everywhere, but not many were real. We were oblivious as to how such unarming experiences and outrageous stands could further change the shape of America, and in more ways than we could ever have had the ability to measure. I was not political during those years and as a result of them, have grown very wary of Government altogether. I remember certain things like Kennedy's murder, the intoxicating mental massage of the Age of Aquarius, how brilliantly Nixon opened the door to China and then fell through a Watergate into a sea of scandal. I never thought that those occurrences could prove detrimental to the strength of the ole' USA. But alas, who could ever imagine that a home-spun pair of rugged Levis would now be made in China?

Back then things were made to last: marriage, family, faith, country, your Westinghouse fridge. As David Stern would say at the introduction of the same- named television show , these really were “The Wonder Years”. I was very privileged to grow up against the tapestry of such a time. Although with the convergence of two different ideals, it seems we lived among many paradoxes: A blend of security and anxiety, strength and weakness, love and hatred, control and abandon. And with it much was forever lost. I tried to flourish then but was more intimidated by it all. And when I think of the many things I was going through, it was difficult and sometimes seemed impossible. But other than my faith, the one other constant thread in my life, the one thing that still remained through time, disaster, war, divorce, death was – is family. And the deepest expression, the knitting together of those near and far was the family reunion. Our family, not unlike many others, was and is a melting pot of the strange, the lovely, the absurd, the traditional, the radical, the comforting, the scary. That was us, because somehow we were all branches rooted from one man named Frank and the wife he loved, Michela. Yearly we all gathered around mounds of pasta, grilled food, delectable desserts, tons of talk, and fun in the sun.

Family as a concept and way of life was much more appreciated back then. Family is familiar, or at least it should be. I think of how it was so natural to want to go to family reunions because I had played with many of those same cousins on a weekly basis, cousins that I loved, even with all their idiosyncrasies. And they certainly accepted mine. Not consciously, mind you, it just was the way of family.

Back then, Sundays were days to visit grandparents or great aunts. I remember many visits to Aunt Theresa's house where we were met with their family dynamic of fun- loving teases, good home-grown food, and a stealy staccato of the Erie Lackawanna train beating against her garden yard. I vividly remember dinners at Aunt Carmella's forever waiting for “Gilly” to finish his. The rest of the cousins made up games to play while we waited, like “Name that Tune”. Unfortunately, all it did was engage Gilly more and further enrage Aunt Carmella until she finally dismissed him. He never did finish! Every time we patiently waited just the same though—after all, it was the way of family.

I remember gatherings at various homes, but usually with the same core people and often a sweet layer of out-of-town relatives on top of that: New Year's at Mildred's, Sunday suppers at Grandma Santa's, and summer picnics with everyone at Kanakadea Park. We never lacked reasons to fellowship and eat. And even though, we had a small house, still cousins would even visit us. I recall a pregnant Cindy with husband Bob stopping by one warm summer, Ivy (I think she was pregnant too) and Danny Fenti in their Love Bug came. I always remember Theresa Ann with her camera and soft spoken voice, and then there were the traveling Di Raimondos and Puleos galore who dropped in for lunch before settling at the Aunts.

Now the tides have changed. More moms work outside of the home, therefore weekend visits are fewer and further between. Families live farther apart or are completely splintered, and cousins rarely see each other. It is an awesome shame that my own kids only know their cousins by face and not by games of hide and seek, or softball or roasting marshmallows by a campfire. Mine are not the only ones. Reunions now are much more awkward for all of them tossed together with people as close as blood, but as distant as a simple table across a room that feels like the transatlantic ocean. It wasn't meant to be so.

As I think back to those reunions, the best were at Stony Brook with a backdrop of 60's and 70's music as the soundtrack to many of those get-togethers. I recall Cousin Santa Towsley with a free, clear voice singing “Me and Bobby Mc Gee”. I remember driving there to “Spirit in the Sky” and “Spinning Wheel” or listening to older cousins sing “Get Ready” complete with the Temptations' twirls. When I hear those songs or I even hear the word “reunion”, I think of those times. I think of Charlie Roselli playing games with us kids and the fun prizes we would get. I will never forget swimming down at the gorge with all my cousins, some who could dive at the deep end and some who would doggie paddle at the other end. I was always somewhere in between. Those seemed like hotter summers and the cool water was especially inviting after we walked the thousand steps about the gorge.

I can even recollect the damp smell of the Pavilion wood and hear the echo the first arrivals made as families converged like ants on a cookie crumb. I think of tables teeming with lavish desserts. As other cousins came, it was I and the Puleo cousins who would tell everyone that our Grandma Santa's blueberry cake was the best dessert there. Although to me her blueberry cake was not nearly as good as her chocolate chip banana bread, I would have defended it to my death. After all no one was gonna beat my Grandma at baking! But there were plenty of cousins who would stand by their grandmothers' dishes. It was the way of family.

I am not sure exactly what happened. I still enjoy the reunions….but they are just not the same. Was it the death of so many who had that “lively spark” to give to “family” like my own mother, or Aunt Carmella, who was the “reunion police”. Who could tell HER that they weren't coming? Is it the lack of interest from those that live such busy lives, so very far away or so very close? Is it more than America that has changed? Is it because I have gone from the Wonder Years of childhood to the Knowing Years of Adulthood? All I know is I want those times back … not only for me but for the ongoing “branches” that will hopefully remember to honor Frank and Michela in the future. It's the way of family. And you should want that too!