Memories

JMJ. In a way I wish that I resided outside time as God does. I have so many wonderful memories of my past and I just know that if I tried really hard they would once again be fresh before me. I know intellectually that there are many who grew up in dysfunctional families. Mine was not (to the best of my knowledge.)

I am the oldest of six children, born of Jim and Bonnie Morgan. Dad worked for NASA for so many years, and Mom, who was educated a teacher, raised us by day. Dad early joined, and (I believe) helped form Pack 112 of the Cub Scouts of America. He was an early Pack Leader. Mom was a den leader and devoted a lot of time to our activities. It was she who taught me to drive, Dad being a little too up-tight for such a venture. Mom was always so much more laid-back. She reminds me so much of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I could always go to Dad for whatever I wanted but I knew that I stood a whole lot better chance of getting what I wanted if I went to him through Mom.

My next younger sibling is my brother, Ted, four years younger than I. I vaugely remember holding him as we brought him home from his birth at Lutheran Hospital. I have twin sisters, Lori and Beth, a younger brother, Steve, and a youngest sister, Susan. We don't see each other a whole lot but I know that we are connected in a way that transcends normal channels. We have just lost our Mother and this connects us even more closely.

As busy as Dad was at work, he devoted a lot of time to the Cub Scouts. I have so many happy memories of our newspaper drives and our Halloween candy sales. He taught me woods-craft and to camp out. He taught me so many things, always through a wonderfully wry sense of humour.

Every summer I spent a few weeks with my grandparents in Kalamazoo, Michigan. My fondest memories of those summers were when my next younger brother, Teddy, was old enough to be there, too. We swam in Lake Michigan, ate smoked fish from her waters, and roamed the halls of the Kellogg mansion where Grandma's Red Cross had its headquarters. Mom and Dad had the devotion to give us these memories.

We grew up across the road from a couple (childless) who allowed us to call them by their first names, Al and Caroline. Ours was a neighborhood of diversity unseen by those who call for it now. I grew up next to a family of Canadian Catholics who occasionally took me to Mass. Two doors down there was a family of Japanese-Americans. Mr. Jim served our country during the Second World War. A Nesei Warrior. Miss Alice, his wife, taught me to dance as do the Japanese. I wore a hapi coat and spoke a few Japanese words.

There were two black families on our block in Berea. Down the road there was a whole black neighborhood. Ours was a completely integrated area long before the idea had ever been broached. Long before Martin Luther King, our block had two black families on it and our elementary school was totally integrated. In high school I dated a Jewish girl.

Those halcyon days are long behind me. Polarisation has taken place, the feeble biases of my parents and grandparents have given way to out-right animosity on the parts of so many of my friends and acquaintances. My hope is in the Lord Who alone can unite all of His creatures. I despair of ever seeing that time but I look forward to it. Through Him all things are possible. My hope is in Him.