My favorite, once removed

Growing up in places as disparate as Tokyo, Richmond, VA, and Jessup, GA, my sense of family was very small. It was my brother and my folks -- that was it. I mean, sure, I had grandparents, uncles, cousins and all the rest, but I rarely saw them. Except for fifteen months when I was four and five, we never lived in the same city as any relatives. Those fifteen months were spent in Rochester, NY, my Dad’s hometown, but, ironically, he wasn’t there; he was in Korea.

Another sad fact of my family story is that “family” pretty much meant “Dad’s family.” They were the ones we traveled to see when we could; they were the ones we spent an occasional Christmas with. My Mom’s family lived at times in Puerto Rico, California, Texas and New Jersey and, although we did travel to the last three, going to visit family usually meant a trip to Rochester.

I’m sad about that, but I understand it. In the 50s many Americans from other places wanted to be as Anglo as possible. My Mom certainly did; she dyed her hair blond, taught her two sons only English, learned to cook American favorites and generally fit right in with all the other suburban housewives. She sacrificed her culture and her family for her husband’s; it’s a shame, but I wouldn’t come to realize that for dozens of years.

It’s still true that I am closer to the Foerys than I am to the Toros. More Foerys live in Rochester – still – than anywhere else. Three cousins and their offspring live there, as does the senior surviving member of my Dad’s generation, my about-to be-ninety-four year-old Aunt Sally.

Yesterday though I spent the day with a much younger Foery, my cousin Bill’s fifteen year-old son Brendan. Bill was there too; the three of us went into the city to see the Broadway musical Once (based on the wonderful film of the same name), to have lunch, and, likely most important to Brendan, to hang out in Times Square so he could play his guitar and sing some of the songs he’s written.

It was a thrill for him, and for me too. A security guard told us that Brendan couldn’t play for money – something he wasn’t interested in doing – but before I closed his guitar case a man threw in a coin that turned out to a US $1 coin – pretty rare, and a great souvenir.

Brendan told me later he was stepping out of his comfort zone to do this, but he did himself proud. Several tourists took his picture and one new fan even Tweeted about the experience.

I love my cousins in Rochester, but Bill, who lives in Vermont, is the one I see the most. We have a history that dates back to the winter of 1970 when he was just a kid and I was a ski bum, working and living in his parents’ restaurant/inn. We did several roller coaster road trips in the 80s and 90s and he claims we were once involved in some petty larceny, but I'm taking the fifth on that. We have seen each other in CT and VT somewhat regularly over the years. Ransom and I were there when Bill married the lovely Denise Young in 1998.

Now we have even more reason to get together as I realize that, along with a favorite cousin, I have a favorite cousin once removed. Rock on Brendan!

Here's a one-minute video of the event; it's almost inaudible, but at least the moment's been captured for posterity: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLjvqwNiXnI&feature=youtu.be

Proud Papa with Up and Coming Star