“Family reunions. Where generations are united, and memories are rekindled.”
— True statement. Author unknown.
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What were the odds, we surmised while talking about it? A miracle? Nothing quite so divine, but certainly, some intervention was involved. On that, we all agreed.
Whatever it was, the tale was told more than once at the family reunion in Abilene last weekend. Where sharing memories while making new ones reign supreme.
I’ve read recently that family reunions in America are declining. Please don’t ever tell my family.
The descendants of my mother’s parents, Arthur George and Bernice Conlee Johnson of Winchester, Kentucky, just conducted a memorable long weekend get-together in West Texas. Forty-nine reunion believers from my mother’s side of the family who were raised on the importance of family togetherness traveled from as far away as Ohio, Tennessee, and Center in Deep East Texas to catch up, recount memories, and keep the family tradition alive and well.
My earliest childhood memories of Kentucky Johnson family reunions were in the Blue Grass state where every sibling was present. No small feat for a family that scattered as they grew up. Mom moved to Texas, where she stayed. She was followed later by two sisters who also made Texas their home. Another sister settled in Ohio, and the youngest, a brother, stayed in Southern California after discharge from the Navy, before later moving to Texas.
Reunions have remained a time for stories. Updated news about each new family. About growing up. About happiness and about sorrow. Plus a few about the challenges of sometimes simply getting everyone to the gatherings. Where snappy cheese dip and Ale-8-1 soft drinks—both Kentucky traditions rooted in the Winchester area, were plentiful.
After some 70-plus years, the stories are still repeated. I’ve heard most of them more times than I can count. Including some I heard again this year for the umpteenth time. But I’ll listen to them as long as they are still being told because, with each recitation, there are variations that only time and the love for recounting family history firsthand can enhance.
So how does a family with deep Kentucky roots come to converge on Abilene for family reunions?
Families expand, family trees grow new branches, and generations move to meet new opportunities. Wherever they are held, getting together will require traveling across the country. And that’s where the intervention mentioned above is essential.
Like the time Uncle Bill, Mom’s baby brother, made the trek to Kentucky from California in the mid-50s with his family, traveling in his red Mercury convertible. He made it as far as the Oklahoma Turnpike before the car quit on him in the middle of the night.
I’ve heard the story numerous times and I have some recollection of it as well. But my pre-schooler memories are somewhat less than vivid. Except those of that gorgeous red convertible.
We were traveling from West Texas with a plan to meet Bill at a predetermined point on the turnpike that night. After reaching the meeting spot and waiting more than a reasonable amount of time, Dad decided to start backtracking, and perhaps by intervention, found Bill and his family stranded.
As you process the story, think about this. It was a time when cell phones and GPS devices were still science fiction. Before air-conditioned cars when trips were often planned at night because it was cooler.
Dad got help, the car was repaired, and everyone made it to Kentucky in time to enjoy snappy cheese and Ale-8s.
Intervention was still working well this year when history repeated itself. As in years ago, family members were coming from all directions. Flying. Driving. I left East Texas before lunch on Thursday and headed west without knowledge of anyone else’s itinerary.
Approaching the destination city as dinner time neared, I called Abilene cousin Fred Scott, who gave me the address of a restaurant on the east side of town near ACU where inbound early arrivals were converging. I plugged the address into GPS, smiled, and relaxed because I was less than an hour away.
But less than five minutes later, cuz’ was calling. “Where are you?”
I thought, “A couple of minutes closer than I was when we just talked.” Before I had time to question his question, he said, “Kama’s car has broken down on I-20 at the 315 mile-marker. Are you anywhere near that?”
“Let me see … I don’t know.” His daughter was stranded on the interstate with her kids. My relaxed feeling turned to tension and concern. Then I saw it. Mile marker 324 flashed past me. “I’m right behind her,” I called back.
In less than 10 minutes after answering the call, I was pulling up behind them on the service road. Neither of us knew we were traveling anywhere near each other. Coincidence? I think not.
Everyone made it to dinner and the storytelling sessions were underway. “You won’t believe what happened today!”
Family. United in generations of love and often repeated stories. The best parts of a reunion. I’m somewhat concerned, however, that the snappy cheese and Ale-8 tradition has been waning recently. I’ll take the lead to correct that before next year.
In the meantime, we’ll work on prayers for intervention that everyone continues to arrive safely.
—Leon Aldridge
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Aldridge columns are published in these newspapers and magazines: The Center Light and Champion, the Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, The Fort Stockton Pioneer, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.
© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2024. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.
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