How Do You Do It?

It’s a big family reunion party, and I’ve not seen a lot of my relatives since I was a kid. The crowd on the front lawn already all look like strangers.  It’s going to be hard to recognize the ones I knew, and there are so many of my cousins’ kids and grandkids, and probably great-grandkids milling around that if I had ever met them, I’d never remember any of them anyway.

As I come in the front door, a wave of nostalgia sweeps through me.  This is the home where, when I was a kid, we would have all the big family parties.  It’s familiar ground, and my cousin Robert has held onto the house. He was an only child – one of the few in a family where the other eleven aunts and uncles had multiple children.

I don’t see Robert, but I do spot a cousin who I know lives on the Big Island.  I head toward her to say hello, but before I can weave my way through the crowd, a very large woman, maybe in her late 20s, bumps into me.

I’m not small, but she is near me in weight, if not height, and the impact throws me off balance. I fall to the floor as she swans away, and two young boys, I guess in their mid-teens, help me up off the floor.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate the hand up.”

One of them asks if I’m okay.

“Yes, sure. I just didn’t expect to be sideswiped like that.”

“Yeah,” the other one says. “That’s cousin Sam. She’s big, and she kinda isn’t all there. You gotta watch out for her.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I say, laughing. “Any other clan members I should be worried about running into?”

They both laugh. “I don’t know, Uncle,” says the first one.  Lotta these people, we don’t know at all.”

“Right,” I say. “And speaking of that, my name’s Chris. Who are you?”

“I’m Josh,” says the first one.

“And I’m Jake,” says the second.

I’d ask them how they’re related to all of us, but the task of reeling through the grandsons or great-grandsons of this person and that makes my head spin before the fact.  Simply, then, I say it’s nice to meet them and then try to spot my Big Island cousin again.

I can’t, so I scan the crowd searching for anyone I might know.  It’s strange to feel so alone when you’re among all your own relatives, but that’s the way it goes.  If our genes could speak, they’d be able to introduce all of the blood-related folks to each other, no problem.

It’s sad, but it’s the way of the world. Once our generation started raising their own families, we all saw less of each other as those new family groups started to have their separate family get-togethers.

And so on. The family tree expands, and we all continue branching out and farther away from each other.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see this cousin Sam, again.

“I’m sorry I bumped you down,” she says. “Here,” she holds out a cupcake. “I bought this for you for a I’m sorry present.”

She has a beautiful smile, and a wave of sorrow washes over me as I can see right away what the two boys are talking about. It’s immediately apparent that there is something odd about Sam. It’s a bit in the sound of her voice, but it’s more in her face.  Her expression.  It seems as if she’s looking two ways at once: Here at me, and somewhere far away.

“Oh,” I say, “no problem. Accidents happen. And thank you for the cupcake.”

I take it from her and her hand stays there.

“I’m Samantha,” she says, “but everybody calls me Sam.”

I shake her hand. She’s got a strong grip.

“I hate it,” she says, her face tightening. “Please don’t ever call me Sam. Call me Samantha when you see me, okay? Don’t be like everybody.”

She lets go of my hand and the blood rushes back into it.

“Okay, Samantha, I will do that.”

She smiles and walks away.

I’m not in a cupcake mood, so I look for an empty spot anywhere nearby and place it on the corner of a coffee table.

Once again I scan the area for my Big Island cousin, but I don’t see her. Feeling a strange desperation coming on, I’m now looking for anyone I know, but everyone, all these relatives of mine are strangers to me.

I spot Josh and Jake again, but they’re talking to a group of kids who look even younger.  Not that I don’t like kids, but I’m looking for older folks.

Maybe, I think, I’ll recognize someone out in the backyard. Maybe my Big Island cousin headed out there.

My uncle always barbecued out in the back. When we’d party here, he’d have multiple grills going. Sometimes he’d even have a pig on a rotating spit.

As I step out I think the crowd outside is larger than the one in the house. Multiple grills are going, with multiple cooks, and I spot my cousin Robert manning one of them.

I make my way over to him and, patting him on the back, say hello.

Robert wipes his hand on the apron he’s wearing. It says ‘Yobos Cook’ on it. And since at least half the people are some part Korean, I say, “Lotta hot Yobos running around here.”

He grabs my hand and then throws his other hand around my shoulder.

“Eh, Chris, long time no see. Glad you could make it.”

“It’s a great idea, Bob. I wish we’d done it more. I recognize almost nobody here.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” says Bob. “Me either. But little by little I’m getting to know everyone. Estelle organized his whole thing, so she had to do a lot of reaching out to try and pull everyone together. I think everybody here’s in the same boat. Just start talking to other people right? Even if we can’t quite figure out how we’re related to someone, who cares? We’re all family. The more of us we know, the better.”

Estelle is Bob’s wife. I remember her as that warm sort of person. The one who will send Christmas cards to you even if you aren’t close. She is the one who’d try to make this reunion happen.

Someone taps on my shoulder. I turn around and it’s Samantha.

“You forgot your cupcake,” she says, handing it to me.

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot where I put it down. Thank you, Samantha, for bringing it to me.”

“You want it, don’t you?” she asks.

“Oh definitely, Samantha.”

“Sam,” says Bob. “Stop bothering Uncle, okay?”

Samantha looks at my cousin, then tilts her head to the side. “Okay, Grampa.” She rolls her head to look at me. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“Oh no, it’s okay. No problem, Samantha.”

“Sam,” says my cousin, pointing his pair of tongs toward the house. “Can you get me another beer?”

“Oh yes I can do that, Grampa,” she says as she turns in the direction of the house and heads off.

I’m curious about two things. One, why doesn’t her own grandfather call her Samantha, and two, when he calls her Sam, how come it doesn’t bother her?

Bob watches her go. “That’s my granddaughter Sam,” he says, shaking his head. “She had a bad birth. They had to do a caesarian. She was two months premature. It’s a miracle they were able to save her.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” I say. “So she’s the daughter of . . . ?”

“She’s Angie’s kid.”

“Oh, Angie, right.” I know he had a daughter named Angela, but I’ve never actually met her.

“It’s been tough on Sid and Angie. Sam needs a lot of extra care.  Lots of watching after.  She’s always been like that. You know, special ed and all of that. They’re going to have to have to take care of Sam for as long as she lives.  As long as they live.  We’ll be gone, so I don’t know who’ll take over when Sid and Angie either can’t do it anymore because of their age, or they pass away.”

He turns back to the grill and begins flipping kalbi. Kalbi was his dad’s specialty, and it’s probably now his. The handing down of traditions. I have to smile.

“Well,” I say, “hopefully her siblings will take over.”

“No,” says Bob. “Trust me. They want nothing to do with her. When they were all kids, Sam would throw tantrums. Then she’d get violent with them. They were all afraid of her. I can’t say they’re afraid of her now that they’re all grown up, but they don’t want to have anything to do with her.”

“Ah, that’s so sad,” I say.

Just then Samantha arrives with a beer for Bob, and she has a second one.

“This one’s for you, Uncle. I like you a lot. Do you like me?”

This throws me a bit.  As I take the beer, I kind of hem and haw a thank you.

“So do you?” Samantha asks, her eyes wide.

I look at Bob, see no expression with any kind of message in it, then back at her. “Why of course I do, Sam. I like you very much.”

Her face transforms from a big smile into a nasty grimace. “I told you to call me Samantha. Don’t you ever call me Sam again.”

Bob cuts in. “Sam, that’s enough. Don’t bother your Uncle anymore.”

Samantha’s whole body sags, and she collapses to the ground. Hands to her face, she begins to cry. Not softly, but loud sobs. People nearby stop talking and turn to watch her. Bob puts down the tongs and kneels beside her. He begins stroking her back and whispering something in her ear. Finally, she stops sobbing and the people around us go back to talking.

Bob stops rubbing her back. “Okay, Sam,” he says, “Come on. Let’s go find Mommy and Daddy.”

He helps her up and hands the tongs to me. “Here you go, Chris,” he says. “Time for you to take over. Easy peasy.”

“I, uh, I’m not good at grilling,” I say, dreading doing this. I’ve never been good with cooking on a grill.

Bob laughs. “Come on, you’re a Yobo, Chris. All of us know how to cook. It’s in the genes.”

So much care for that girl, I think. How do you do it? I stare at the short ribs on the hibachi and prod them with the tongs. How on earth do you do it?