Amy and I packed up the car and traveled to Algood, a hundred miles away. Her family was renewing the yearly reunion. After more than ten years, Amy and her cousins realized the need to have a get together.
John Allen and Joy Short became ramrods for the event. Joy is a doer. She makes things happen. John is an amazing, multi-talented man who can cook, clean, and organize better than most folks on the planet. Melinda Bilbrey secured the place for the reunion. It was a family life center owned by her church. All of their efforts led to a day of fun for the group of fifty or more.
As we gathered, the changes that had occurred surprised me. At the last reunion, our children were the young ones. We were the parents and were easily recognizable: sleep deprived, raw nerved, and physically exhausted. Amy’s adult relatives were the seniors. Now, our children have that same look that we wore as they herd their own young ones. We are the gray-haired ones. The aunts and uncles are still present, but their numbers have decreased, and they sit back as the “wise ones” who offer up good advice on any topic from cooking to raising children to investing money.
A plus about reunions is the food. Families brought cakes and pies. One cousin lugged in a bowl of shrimp; he must have known my weakness. Aunts arrived with plates of deviled eggs and other good stuff. John set up two machines that churned containers of vanilla and peach ice cream. The main course was to be fish. Amy had contacted Charles, who’d cooked for earlier reunions. Back then, he set up a grill and cooked for a couple of hours as guests downed pounds of fish, French fries, and cold slaw. My own two children, Dallas and Lacey, were most excited about the fish; it was the thing they best remembered about past reunions. I’d even bragged to son-in-law Nick that it was the best tasting fish he’d ever have.
People began to gather at 10:00 a.m., and lunch was to be served around 1:00. The noise swelled as folks arrived. Plenty of hugs and kisses were shared, and John provided snacks for people to munch until the fish was ready.
The morning wore on, but Charles hadn’t appeared. Amy called his house earlier in the morning but only got a busy signal and later no one answered. Worried looks spread across faces, and at one point, Nellie West and her grandson Brian drove to Cookeville to Charles’ house. He wasn’t there.
Facing a meal with no main course, the decision was made. Michael West and I hopped into his car and drove to the other side of Cookeville. We arrived at KFC and bought a trunk load of chicken mashed potatoes, gravy, and slaw.
Back at the reunion, folks loaded their plates. No one complained. All had too much fun sharing a meal with extended family. One person commented,
“Man, this is good “fish.” It takes just like chicken!”
The day was good. Charles never appeared or called. He’s gotten older too, and maybe the man simply forgot. That kind of thing happens in life. The main thing is the reunion was a success and next year’s has already been planned. Maybe we’ll call Charles every week starting now. We all still want some fish.
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