Weekend Adventures, part 3

3.  To the reunion!

Saturday, minutes before noon we arrived at the park for the reunion.  The temperature could not have been measurably below 100^oF, if any at all.  But the organizers of the party foresaw this possibility-- I mean it was Southern Illinois, mid-July-- and our assemblage gathered in the reserved and nicely air conditioned meeting hall.  Understand that the party included descendants of BBBH's paternal grandparents but also descendants of the sibling of one of the in-laws, a tribe that BBBH went to great pains to convince me that she is no relation to at all.  She isn't, but what fun to tease her about some of the people connected, however distantly, to her relatives.

My approach to a houseful of strangers?  I'm here, what have I got to lose.  There were  about 75 people present, fewer than they had at the last one of these we attended, but nevertheless a rather neat cross-section of mid-America.  The attendees ranged in age from three to ninety-three, male and female, multiracial and bound to be a fun group to accost individually and require conversation of them.  So that is what I did all afternoon, except for the time I was stuffing myself with goodies from the carry-in.

One young man, I'd say 58 to 60, I found as I asked him for his excuse for attending, is single, the result of a divorce, lives in the Florida Panhandle and is a distance runner.  He was wearing his club logo and I asked if they had a website.  He assured me they did and gave me the address.  He and they run half-marathons, marathons, marathon-and-a-half, and hundred mile runs.  I don't get it-- any of it-- and frankly admitted to him that while I admire people with such passion and tenacity I cannot run two steps, never could.

One old guy actually seemed to believe he was oldest man present.  Absurd.  There were at least three other guys older than he, including yours truly.  He is 81.  He found it hard to believe that brother Glenn is 93, but when I told him I am 84 he looked at me and said, "Yeah, I believe that; you certainly look it."  I wandered off.

Visited a bit with a nicely coiffed white haired lady of a certain age.  It turns out she lives less than 25 miles from us.  She belongs to the clan to which BBBH denies relationship.

Big black man, 42 years old, six-foot three, 350 pounds (that's a guess-- could be more) was an interesting conversationalist.  The two youngest of his five children were with him, daughters 13 and 17.  He talked with pride of two of  the others, including the one who had made him a grandparent.  The fifth one, though, was the source of heartache for her father.  I tried to give him some encouragement on that front, pointing out that she is still quite young and sometimes people have to pass forty before any good sense soaks in.

This man wore a name tag that read, "William," and he told me I could call him "Fat"; everyone does.  I thanked him for including me in his circle, then told  him that if I didn't know him I sure as heck would never walk up to him and call him Fat.  Here he raised his right hand, back up, to show me the ring he wore.  Very large-- really large-- gold ring with the word "FAT" embossed in raised letters and studded with 21 diamonds.  Small diamonds it is true, but diamonds nevertheless.  Blessings, Fat, live long and prosper.

In a facebook post I told the best story of the day by the man who told  his mother-in-law, a life-long smoker and who had Alzheimer's that she did not smoke, and she believed him and never smoked again.

So the final one here, another young man, fifty-something, is a Spanish professor at a small Midwestern university.  Serious conversation for the most part, two educators hashing out the problems and outlining the prospects for education in our land.

A good day; tired and so to the hotel to kick off the shoes, BBBH and I shared our individual stories of the day.