Generation gaps

Once again my weekend was full. Full of family. Full of friends.

Though Saturday night with friends – old and new – was a major highlight, a fun event for all involved, the greatest part of my weekend was spent with my family.

On Wednesday of last week a cousin e-mailed to say she’d be in town from out of town. For her kids’ hockey games.

I looked over the schedule of games included in the e-mail and checked it against my calendar.

And bright and early on Saturday morning, I was there. At a rink I know. Watching my little cousin (cousin’s kid, second cousins, my mom’s cousin – I refer to all of them as just “cousins”).

And we talked. About life. My cousin (and my parents who were also in attendance) sat and smiled at the young kids skating around the large sheet of ice, missing the puck and colliding into the boards to stop. We reminisced on past games. Games we watched together. Talked about “last times” and “at the State Tournament” like it was a hundred years ago.

Inevitably, the topic of cancer and chemo came up. And my mom shared her latest updates with her niece. Updates that are uplifting and good. She talked about her radiation treatments, sleeping patterns, and growing hair.

While discussing cancer may not be a normal sporting event conversation, for our family, it kind of is. Because twenty years ago when Grandpa was sick with cancer, I used to sit in rinks and watch my big cousins play their Pee Wee and Bantam games in an effort to maintain routine and get outside the world of cancer and chemo. And I know that there were questions in between whistles and periods, thoughtful friends who inquired on my grandpa’s condition.

And as I sat there, watching my little cousin, I thought about the generations. The fact that I once sat in that very arena, possibly the exact rink, and watched his uncle (Cousin B) play in his USHL games back in the day. Back when I was just a kid. Back when Cousin B was just a kid. Back when none of my cousin’s kids were even born.

What an honor. What a privilege. What a blessing.

To be there. To be part of this. Family. The generations.

After the game, we waited in the lobby. And though the youngins don’t shower, it still “took forever” according to my cousin’s oldest kid.

When the un-showered kid emerged from the dressing room, wheeling his Easton hockey bag, I couldn’t help but think about all those games – a hundred years ago – when I waited for my big cousins to come out of the locker room (after waiting a million hours) and say hi. To congratulate or console.

To be there. To be part of this. Family. The generations.

The gaps may be large. Years in between. But the generations represented in my family continually remind me that no gap is large enough to separate the love we hold for one another.


One thought on “Generation gaps

  1. Pingback: Weekend words | Megan Nyberg's Meditations

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