Donny

I exchanged text messages with Donny on Friday and Saturday, as we wished each other happy birthday. His birthday is the day after mine.

Donny is my cousin.  Sort of. 

Way back in 1966, my aunt married a divorced father of two.  In those days, divorce was not as common, or as accepted, as it is now.  That my new uncle had two sons who did not live with him … that was very different from what I was used to.

Anyhow, Donny was 6 years old when his father married my aunt.  His brother Bobby was 5, the same age as my sister.  My aunt and uncle were frequent visitors to my parents’ house whenever my uncle had visitation with his kids.  Good times.

My uncle died in 1971, shortly after my 11th birthday.  We lost touch with the boys after that.

But as an adult, Donny sought out my aunt.  I guess he needed to feel the connection with someone who remembered his father.    And after my aunt passed away he looked for me and my sisters,

And now, every year, we talk or text.  And remember what it was like to be 10 years old, playing whiffle ball in the back yard, and eating spaghetti and meatballs in my mother’s kitchen.