My grandparents dedicated their lives to the Southern Baptist Church. My father’s father was a minister and a person who specialized in “church building.” This involved all aspects of pastoral life; from foundation to maintenance. Laying down the first footprints of a building to visiting the newly born and the dying, speaking in front of congregations to securing the roof over their very heads; all of these were activities set to fill his life of service. Ross’s wife Pauline was his complement in every regard. Her life was devoted principally to her husband and to the raising of children, the singing of hymns, the discipling of young women, and volunteering to better her community.
They had four children, of which my father is one. Those four children combined to have seven offspring, from which there are currently 13 great-grandchildren to Ross and Pauline. The family has members living on both the east and west coast, and the southwest. If it weren’t for family reunions every two years, the Hughes family cousins would not be able to pick each other out of a police line-up, much less have a descent level of rapport and knowledge of each-other’s history.
Getting together has become increasingly problematic as the time has passed since the death of my father’s parents. The family is in a time of transition where connections are and feel less concrete. It is a delight to see the faces of those who loved us as children, and to meet the children of their children. However, the perpetuation of these get-togethers is increasingly in doubt. For now, I hope to focus on the beauty behind the idea of making family a priority worth celebrating at any cost. So much of our culture in America has its roots in the freedom from the confines of family. Running counter to this model is an exercise in optimism and the collective will of a family dispersed.
albaniacalling 