Kith & Kin

Some memories stay fresh in our minds because they are so special or so amazing or so shattering that we play them over and over throughout our lives. Some memories, though, are hidden in the haze of our history and then surprise us by appearing when a random event triggers them. For instance, a couple of days ago I saw a bicycle and one of those hidden memories jumped out suddenly. I stopped walking for a second and carefully turned it over in my mind. Yes, I remember now—it really happened that way. I had completely forgotten. . . . The Bike I had picked out the coolest bike I’d ever seen from the all the bikes available in the bike store in little old downtown Fredericksburg. This was the era of Footsies , hula-hoops , Jarts , bell bottoms—and banana bikes. AI generated by Copilot Banana bikes had a distinctively elongated seat. They were usually bright in color, with high handlebars decorated with tassels that flapped in the wind. At some point I put plastic clickers...

Cousins on a summer day at the grandparents ’  house. My brother Keith is on the far left, and our cousin Scott is next to him. I ’ m next, standing with my arm around Scott. Loren is the tall kid in the middle with the New Mexico T-shirt on, and his sister Robin is right beside him. I never told anybody this before, but I had a crush on Robin — I think you can see why! I recently received a text from my brother Eric: “Just got word from cousin Robin that Aunt Karon died on June 1.” That was only three days ago. She was 86 years old. Aunt Karon was the fourth child born to my grandfather Weston Skaggs . Born in 1937, she was the family’s only girl. Her older half-brothers were Leo, Eddie, and my dad, Nyle. Weston’s first wife, Eva, passed away fifteen days after my dad was born; Grandpa remarried, and he and his second wife—we called her Buddy —had just one child, Audris Karon. Dad was born in 1936, so he and Karon were close in age. But I never heard him talk about their ch...

Our former home on Bartley Road, LaGrange, Georgia. We lived here in 1973 – 74. Author’s Note: This essay is absolutely not intended as a condemnation of all people who live in Georgia, of all people who live in LaGrange, or of anyone living there today. This is how things were for me fifty years ago. Although I don’t speak of them here, we met many wonderful people and made great friends back then. And I am sure that today the good people of LaGrange, like the rest of us, are very different from those I knew so long ago. It was 1973, and I was riding the bus home after my first day at Troup Junior High School in LaGrange, Georgia. Two boys about my age were a couple of seats behind me. “Hey!” one of them said. “Hey you!” I turned and looked at them hopefully. Maybe they would be friendly. “Where you from?” they asked. “Ohio.” They looked at each other and said, “Oh-Hi!” and laughed. “I bet you like Sherman, don’t ya?” one of them added. Now, the only “Sherman” I knew was ...

My cousin Peggy is three years older than I am. We have been close ever since we were very small children and she dressed me up in little girl clothes like I was one of her dolls. As far as I know, only one photo exists of me thusly attired, which is one more photo than I wish there were of me thusly attired. I once told my mother that when I grew up, I wanted to marry Peggy. Grandma Swartz, standing nearby, reacted in typical Grandma Swartz style. “Oh, Stevie, you can’t marry your first cousin! Your children will be deformed! They won’t be right!” Mom’s wise reply: “For heaven’s sake, Mom, he’s only five years old! He’s not really going to marry her!” Why our children would be deformed was a mystery to me, but it didn’t really matter in the long run because Peg and I never married each other anyway. Peggy and I got to discussing birthdays once when we were kids, and we came to realize that I was born on September 22, and she was born on December 22. “We were both born on the...

Fredericksburg, Ohio, 2010. It was the mid-1970s. My first cousin Peggy and I were both teens, and we were standing together at the top of The Cliff. The Cliff bordered my grandparents’ property and overlooked a portion of the village of Fredericksburg. Someone once told me it was about 140 feet high, but in my memory it seems much higher than that. It was cluttered with trees of various girths and scrubby weeds and rock outcroppings all the way down, and its base disappeared into the shallow water of Salt Creek. Mom and Dad and the grandparents had one rule about the cliff: Stay Away From It! So, being compliant children (as all children were in the 1970s), we obeyed. Until we got somewhere they couldn’t see us. We kids had a secret hideaway called “the Cliff House.” It was really just a little indentation in the rocky cliffside that you got to by holding on to a small tree as you went over the edge and stepped into the indentation. Its floor was maybe eight feet from the edge...