I’m back. I’ve been away looking for things that fit into some new stories. Along the way I was able to witness something that most of us find in our lives but I suspect never realize the wonder of, a family. I was privileged to share a few precious hours with a wonderful family in Ireland.
Many stories feature a family. Often that family is stressed, threatened, and occasionally torn apart. It is not unusual; in fact it’s common to find the hero or lead character faced with a dilemma involving a threatened person or persons. Every so often the threatened party is an animal or beloved pet. In each of those tales we join with the hero in searching for a means to relieve or eliminate the threat to the other person. But nowhere are we more likely to be moved by the hero’s plight than when the threat is toward a family, usually the hero’s family.
Whether we are a part of a loving family, or simply desire to be a part of a family, we want the family in the story to endure and thrive. If the villain is working to separate the family for some reason, we want the family unit to survive the threat. Often the family stands in the way of the villain getting a desired object that the family possesses, for instance the family farm. Occasionally it is simply a matter of revenge.
Whatever the goal of the bad guy we want the hero or heroine to eliminate the threat and save the family. Whether the threat is environmental or financial, physical or psychological the family must survive. An instinct, as powerful as the proverbial “Fight or Flee” reaction that humans feel when threatened, arises that says “Save the Family.”
Well, for a few hours I saw why we all feel that way. These very special people took me into their home and allowed me to share in their special bond that makes the trials of everyday life worthwhile. I saw a caring mother and her three children interact in an almost perfect way. If a television writer had been with me, there would have been a series in the making from the first hour onward.
Casting would have been difficult because all of them were beautiful. OH all right, the young boy would want to be called hansom and not beautiful. None older than thirteen, nor younger than seven. The oldest, a charming young woman beginning her journey into life. She was full of accomplishment and questing for the paths that lay before her. The middle child a boy concerned with the life of sport, and school. The youngest, a beautiful little girl who with every action spread out love in ways that said, “I am safe here in my home and with my family about me.” She could, because of that protective cocoon that her family wrapped about her, approach and accept perfect, or nearly perfect, strangers as just plain folks who belonged in her home.
When they spoke of their lives, they interspersed those tales with cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles. Comparisons of activities that showed that they were a part of a much larger family, which they trusted and expected to be a part of their lives. Each child could and did speak of the other members of the extended family as persons they were happy to have about them. If there was jealousy it never entered into their rendition of past events. In fact they spoke with pride of the accomplishments of the others who shared their family world. Even when those accomplishments might be deemed by others as questionable, to them they were activities to be lauded.
They weren’t some static picture that my memory could keep locked away like a photograph taken with a Kodak camera. They were a moving picture that embodied all that I’ve come to imagine a loving family doing. The occasional button pushing to see if Mom would react, but never in a mean or spiteful way. The desire to find out about the world around them, safe with the knowledge that only a secure family life would provide. Their days were full with all that you would expect a small family to have. Schedules crammed with activities and sports, jobs and chores, and yet I heard no complaining. My time with them moved along as if it were a perfectly scripted play. Scenes changed and scenery was moved about with precision, which a Broadway Director would envy. No shouting or yelling, just cooperation.
As my time with them drew to a close, I found that I would have accepted any delay that could have prolonged the experience. Even at the close the actions couldn’t have been better. Hugs and wishes of a safe journey and invitations to return. I was able to, for a short while, be a part of a loving and close family, and I enjoyed every moment.
