There was nothing more important growing up then family and God.  We spent Wednesday nights and all day Sunday in church, and most Friday nights were deemed “Family Night,” which meant that we rotated to each cousin’s house for dinner and the remaining evening.  The moms figured out the food and house rotation, and the rest of us just showed up, ecstatic to have the night with our cousins to play “Kick the Can” “Ghost in the Graveyard” and whatever other games we made up.  See, we didn’t have televisions in our homes because our parents believed that we should keep the world out. That said, we became very creative creatures in order to occupy our time and make our own fun.  The barns became elaborate forts, the bedrooms upstairs became stages and we were the actors. For a night, we got to be anything we wanted, and we dressed up and “played pretend” for hours.  If the weather cooperated, we’d nominate someone to be “it” and they’d kick an old can across the drive way while we all scattered to hide. It was really just an elaborate version of hide and seek, but we thought we were more clever than an ordinary game.  As we grew older, we divided up more by gender and age–I was lucky enough to have female cousins close to my age on both sides of my family, so we’d retreat to one of our rooms to gossip about boys or complain about our parents.  I think my cousins were my closest friends as a kid, and I know that much of who I am today is credited to the people that they were and are.

Now I live hundreds of miles away from my nearest cousin, and If I’m lucky, I get to see a few of them once a year.  It’s strange to spend your entire childhood growing so close to people only to choose a life that takes you far away from them.  I know that life decisions has taken us in different directions, but I’m eternally grateful for the memories of our simple lives “back then.”