The idea of a family reunion has been strange and unappealing to me until recently. Years ago, in my college days, my parents invited me to one in Montana. I had zero interest. Perhaps if they had explained how gorgeous is that area was or the interesting people who'd be there, I could have been pulled in. I stayed home. Now I regret it.
Last Thursday I boarded a plane to Oklahoma for my first reunion, with relatives from my mother's side. Of the thirty or so who attended, the only ones I knew were my three siblings and a cousin and his wife twenty years, whom I hadn't seen since he was station in Oxnard some twenty-five years ago.
We met in Sayre, a small town two hours west of Oklahoma City. There are no tepees in Sayre as some outsiders have assumed, but only one restaurant adorns its streets. It's a country style one and we ate there the second night. I ordered blackened alligator! It was good--tasted like chicken, but soft like fish. My brother-in-law, of Italian descent, tried the calf fries--breaded and fried cow testicles. He wanted to share, but I drew the limit there.
Each of the four families descended from Grandma had an hour allocated to them to talk about their parents, Grandmother or their own lives. I loved listening the the stories of my Grandmother Davis and her children. A common thread was how hard Grandma and her children had worked as pioneers. I came away with looking at my mother through new eyes and with a new appreciation for her and my kin-folk and feeling like I wanted to meet them again.
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