Roger, in his 60s, reminds me of a retired actor. He has the face and the charm of someone who may have brushed elbows with Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin years ago, buying cocktails for flappers and being mistaken for being a member of an upper-end underground mob. He talks low, as though he is used to people straining to hear every word he said, and his eyes look intentionally half-closed to give off an air of importance, though really, they sparkle underneath.

“So I’m driving this hot rod, right?” he begins his story, his one brother and two sisters leaning in close, surrounded by their kids and their kids’ kids. We had survived the 12-hour car trip to Sioux Falls, S.D., for my mother-in-law’s family reunion, with five of us crammed in a car. We spent the weekend participating in late night card games, drinking in front of the fire pit, feeding each other until we were stuffed and swapping recipes.

On our second day in Sioux Falls, we were sharing after-dinner drinks around the table.

“And I pass this motorcycle. He passes me, and I pass him.” Roger smirks and knows his family isn’t surprised.

“We continue this until…” He pauses and his hand goes up in the air, spinning in a circular motion to signal police car lights. “A cop.”

A giggle rises from the family around the table, mostly followed by knowing eye-rolls.

“So he pulls me over, and the motorcycle, too,” Roger continues. “Walks up to my car. He points at the guy on the bike and asks if I know him.” Roger shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “I say no.”

Laughter.

“He said, ‘Well you guys seem to be following each other. You’re going a little fast.’ Again, I say, ‘Well, I don’t know the guy.’ And what’s the next thing he tells me?” Roger looks around at his listeners. “He stands back and says…’This is a pretty neat car.’”

Laughter explodes around the table. Kathy, my mother-in-law who is the youngest of the four, has her hands to her face like a little girl, unable to control her laughter.

“And says to slow down and lets me on my way,” he said with a sweep of his hands, as if he had known the cop would say it at the time.

I laughed. I had not shared any stories or interjected any thoughts for the past while, but I was enjoying myself too much. The weekend was more relaxing than I had expected. It also made me reflect more on life, the passing of time and family more than I had planned.

The day before, we had all gathered in Aunt Barb’s garage to watch “home videos.” The adults were excited like kids, covering up all the windows and already swapping stories before the videos even came on. To my surprise, Barb pulled out old-school movie reels.

The garage was hot and stuffy with the door closed. Bright afternoon sunlight peeked its way from behind towels that had been hung in front of the windows, providing just enough light to see the profiles of family members crowded on coolers and folding chairs. As the movie started, there was no sound and the image flickered, but it was in color. Everyone kept excitedly pointing out themselves and recalling details to the stories being depicted on screen.

In one video, a Christmas one, my husband Cody’s grandfather strolled into the mess of wrapping paper and bodies as a strapping young man.

“Look, there’s Dad!” Kathy exclaimed, nudging me. “He walks and talks just like Cody.”

Cody’s grandfather died in 1987. Cody doesn’t remember anything about him, but there he was… tall and lanky, just like Cody. He was wearing a trench coat and a Dobbs hat. Despite his attempt at appearing intimidating and mysterious, Cody’s grandmother was giggling nonstop behind the camera.

I had met his grandmother several times. She passed away a year and a half ago, and the family has never been the same. Cody didn’t talk about it for weeks. She was the one who insisted on yearly reunions and kept the family together. When Cody proposed, he held out to me a tiny dried yellow rose that he kept from her funeral… “The one thing I have that means the most to me,” he had said through glistening eyes. Cody and I used the same yellow flowers in our wedding that had been on her casket.

It had finally come around full circle. When Cody’s grandparents were young, they didn’t plan on getting old. They knew they’d get old, but they didn’t spend their time worrying and trying to prevent the inevitable. So they planned. They celebrated Christmases and raised their babies and went to church and lived the best they could while documenting good memories, and they made it through bad times. They had silly fights and played goofy games and cried happy tears. They were young, just like us. And now they’re gone. But that doesn’t make me sad. It makes me happy and hopeful. Because even though they are gone, they left four happy adults, each with children who have children of their own. As a group, it’s a sight to see…and quite large, really. To imagine that two normal people in love spawned this troop of lovers sparks a bit of hope in me. With their death came new life that is continuing in every which way.

So instead of worrying about the future — what might happen, if I will accomplish enough, or if my life will be significant enough to make a difference — I will be like Roger. I will continue to make stories, tell them and pass them on, and I will continue to love and to hold my family close.

One Response to “Like Roger”

1. Ann Thompson Says:
   August 22nd, 2008 at 10:41 am

   What a wonderful story. It brought tears to my eyes (at work). Tell your husband he was very lucky to have a grandmother that was so insistent to keep the family together. He should cherish those memories forever.

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