I have a very large extended family. My mom has 8 siblings. My dad has five. All those siblings collectively have a bizmillion children. Needless to say, I have a lot of family I've never even met. Any time my mom or dad share a story about my relatives, it usually starts with "do you remember cousin so-and-so," accompanied by a drawing (mentally or literally) of our family tree to properly identify the branch of the family.
This is what our family photo would look like if we all loved red.
When I was in college, I took a customer service job at our local newspaper north of Seattle. Child labor was all the rage and 12-year-old newspaper carriers would load up their bikes after school to practice their throwing skills. Based on the number of calls I fielded from sweet little old ladies trying to rescue their newspaper out of their shrubbery or the top of their roof, the kids greatly lacked in both gallantry and accuracy.
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Whenever there was an undelivered (or more likely poorly-delivered) paper, the protocol was to first hunt down the carrier. Twelve-year-olds didn't have cell phones in 1986. So, our quest usually proved fruitless. Mrs. Edna Spitzer (the sweet little old lady) still needed her newspaper, so we'd escalate the concern to our field support. Thirty-year-old regional managers also didn't have cell phones in 1986, thus we'd broadcast our needs via the radio. And by radio, I mean a walkie-talkie, or CB that looked a lot like these:
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We used official CB codes to communicate: 10-4 (affirmative), 10-9 (please repeat, this time using actual words), 10-6 (wait a second, I need to finish chewing), 10-7 (I have to go to the bathroom, don't even try to call me for a while).
The geography of the newspaper circulation was broken out into seven regions overseen by managers and assistant managers who recruited, mentored, and basically babysat these kids five days after school and two very early weekend mornings.
The geography of the newspaper circulation was broken out into seven regions overseen by managers and assistant managers who recruited, mentored, and basically babysat these kids five days after school and two very early weekend mornings.
One eventful day, Big Ed, one of the regional managers, wandered into the office, stopped in front of my desk and abruptly asked me my mom's name. Though I was greatly perplexed by the question, I'm a friendly gal from a small town (and was slightly intimidated by the 200lb+ guy towering over me), so I answered. He nodded sagely and said, "I thought so." After a few awkward seconds, he announced that we were cousins. Big Ed was obviously used to having to map out our family tree and I soon understood the exact nature of our clan-age. From that day forward, we dropped the formalities of first names and instead addressed each other as "Cuz."
Fast forward about 20 years and 800 miles south.
My youngest munchkin was just under a year old and I had recently starting working for a nonprofit in Santa Rosa, California. My new boss and I decided to grab a cardboard-like sandwich at the nearby Quiznos. When we arrived, we found the CEO, HR Director, and warehouse supervisor sitting down to eat. We were invited to join them and I took the opportunity to get to know my new co-workers.
I asked the very friendly warehouse supervisor, Cindy, if she was originally from the area. The conversation went something like this:
Cindy: Born and raised in Santa Rosa. But most of my family is up in Washington.
Me: That's where I grew up! Most of my family is from there too.
Cindy: I have a big family. They're a bit scattered. I think I have several aunts in Washington, cousins in the Midwest, and last I heard, an Uncle Larry in Texas.
Me: Hahahaha. What a coincidence, I have several aunts in Washington, and an Uncle Larry in Texas too.
Cindy: My dad died when I was young, so we lost contact with most of my family. I'm not really sure where any one is any more.
Me: That's got to be hard. Wait. I had an uncle who was killed in California when I was young. Are any of your aunts by chance named Sue? (I'm that awkward person who always asks someone if they happen to know my friend who went to the same huge college and graduated a decade earlier.)
Cindy: WHAT?! Yes!
Me: And maybe Dee and Fran?
Cindy: (ʘ_ʘ)
Me: Yeah, I'm Sue's daughter. Was your dad's name Glen?
Cindy: Holy *Bleep*
And that's how I discovered a very long, lost cousin.
Needless to say, the rest of the folks witnessing this exchange were looking for the hidden cameras because they couldn't believe that this really happened and were fairly certain they were being punk'd. Seriously. Who randomly meets their first cousin who grew up 800+ miles away at a casual work lunch?
Luckily, me.
My mom had been looking for Cindy for years and was ecstatic (and really stunned) that I "found" her. The long lost cousin has since been well-integrated into the family. She and my mom just got back from a trip to Hawaii to visit her son in the Navy.
My youngest munchkin was just under a year old and I had recently starting working for a nonprofit in Santa Rosa, California. My new boss and I decided to grab a cardboard-like sandwich at the nearby Quiznos. When we arrived, we found the CEO, HR Director, and warehouse supervisor sitting down to eat. We were invited to join them and I took the opportunity to get to know my new co-workers.
I asked the very friendly warehouse supervisor, Cindy, if she was originally from the area. The conversation went something like this:
Cindy: Born and raised in Santa Rosa. But most of my family is up in Washington.
Me: That's where I grew up! Most of my family is from there too.
Cindy: I have a big family. They're a bit scattered. I think I have several aunts in Washington, cousins in the Midwest, and last I heard, an Uncle Larry in Texas.
Me: Hahahaha. What a coincidence, I have several aunts in Washington, and an Uncle Larry in Texas too.
Cindy: My dad died when I was young, so we lost contact with most of my family. I'm not really sure where any one is any more.
Me: That's got to be hard. Wait. I had an uncle who was killed in California when I was young. Are any of your aunts by chance named Sue? (I'm that awkward person who always asks someone if they happen to know my friend who went to the same huge college and graduated a decade earlier.)
Cindy: WHAT?! Yes!
Me: And maybe Dee and Fran?
Cindy: (ʘ_ʘ)
Me: Yeah, I'm Sue's daughter. Was your dad's name Glen?
Cindy: Holy *Bleep*
And that's how I discovered a very long, lost cousin.
Needless to say, the rest of the folks witnessing this exchange were looking for the hidden cameras because they couldn't believe that this really happened and were fairly certain they were being punk'd. Seriously. Who randomly meets their first cousin who grew up 800+ miles away at a casual work lunch?
Luckily, me.
My mom had been looking for Cindy for years and was ecstatic (and really stunned) that I "found" her. The long lost cousin has since been well-integrated into the family. She and my mom just got back from a trip to Hawaii to visit her son in the Navy.
 Cindy (thumbs up), me, my sister, our husbands, and kids after a fun day riding quads and bikes. |  Cindy (thumbs up with a halo!) and same gang, plus my mom, on a tour of Angel Island after a picnic. |
My 20-year-old daughter recently asked if we had ever verified whether Cindy was who we thought she was. She suggested that it could all be a big coincidence -- that we've embraced (aka forced) her into our family -- and we're not even related. Can you imagine? I thought that would be a really genius and hilarious plot twist.
But yes, besides the fact that she has all the right names, can recite the family "lore," and looks very much like our grandma, she dusted off old family photos for my mom who instantly recognized her older brother; a 32-year-old Navy vet who was tragically killed in Santa Rosa for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when I was 4 and Cindy was just 6.
Given my track record, I pretty much assume any person I meet these days could be my cousin. If Barbara, Jack, Glen, Larry, Fran, Dee, John, Kay, Faye, Jim, Clyde, or Bob sound like names in your family tree, drop me a note, Cuz.
But yes, besides the fact that she has all the right names, can recite the family "lore," and looks very much like our grandma, she dusted off old family photos for my mom who instantly recognized her older brother; a 32-year-old Navy vet who was tragically killed in Santa Rosa for being in the wrong place at the wrong time when I was 4 and Cindy was just 6.
Given my track record, I pretty much assume any person I meet these days could be my cousin. If Barbara, Jack, Glen, Larry, Fran, Dee, John, Kay, Faye, Jim, Clyde, or Bob sound like names in your family tree, drop me a note, Cuz.
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