Open House and Open Minds

I attended the open house for the old Elreka building last night with members of my extended family.  Besides siblings from out of state and their spouses and children, four generations of my immediate family were present.  My parents were there, as was Shane's family--making a total of four generations in attendance.  For much of my parental family, Lowell served as a tour guide of sorts, providing commentary on teachers he had "right here in this room," misdeeds that transpired in the same places, politically incorrect methods for dealing with problem behaviors, athletic prowess remembered, and helpful hints for ingratiating oneself with substitute teachers.  My siblings contributed their own memories, noted changes to the layout, and generally loved the opportunity to remember.

My sister Dorcas remembered exactly where her desk was when she was in first grade.  In general, the place seemed smaller than it felt to my siblings when they were children.  Caleb remembered that he was only the third-fastest runner in his grade--a memory probably triggered in recent years because of his son Brady's fleetness of foot.  He was on a high school relay team that placed first in the state of Pennsylvania.  Caleb and Lowell also knew that Lorne M. and Eldon W. were some of the fastest people around, and, even now, with better tracks, better shoes, better nutrition (?), their speed would stand up well in current competitions.  "You can find anyone's time on the internet," Caleb told me.  Dorcas and I were pretty sure we couldn't find our time.  I think he meant anyone who actually made any name for themselves in the sport.  Kara suggested Dorcas and I could do a run now and get our time posted on the internet.  Bad idea.

We heard the account of someone (whose name will mercifully be omitted here) who had the terrible judgement to sing the first phrase of the terrible children's song "1-2-3, the Devil's After Me" at the very time when he was circling and dodging around the desks in his classroom, with his teacher in hot pursuit.  You'll be glad to know he turned out fine, and has a fine family today.  I don't know if that teacher is still living or not, but I hope, one way or another, her scars have healed.

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The weekend Miller reunion was really good.  We had a Friday evening and Saturday time with the descendants of Levi and Clara Miller--my grandparents.  Sunday afternoon and evening and Monday all day the descendants of  my parents were together, minus a few members.  So many good conversations--so little time to record them.

At the big reunion, Alex Miller (the son of  my cousin Arlyn, also the grandson of William McGrath) gave a presentation on the conscientious objector position.  He had prepared and presented it at school and at various competitions, under the direction of his teacher in their district's gifted program.  It was a moving tribute to some of my ancestors and relatives who chose that position.  My grandfather, Ananias Beachy, was the person featured during the World War I period.  My uncle Harry (Alex's grandfather) was the representative for Word War II, and my cousin Leon (Alex's uncle) was the representative for the Viet Nam war.  With very minimal props, Alex assumed their identities, each in turn, for a few minutes during his presentation.

Also at the big reunion, my cousin Don from PA talked for a few minutes about why he returns to these reunions.  One of the things he mentioned is that he loves reconnecting with Midwestern humor--something he notices every time he returns to his family in Iowa and when he spends time with his extended family in Kansas.  Specifically, he mentioned times when he and his wife have sung under conductors from Kansas, such as Eldo, Lyle, and Wendell and the leader has said something that completely cracks up Don and his wife--but no one else seems particularly amused.  It's that Midwestern humor they have in common.  I completely understand this--maybe because Don and I have all of our ancestors in common, except for our parents, but more likely because we've observed and experienced similar dynamics.

We took pictures at the reunion this year again.  This is always a reminder of who is missing, but a reminder also of how blessed we are to be able to gather.  The DLM family was by far the biggest group this year.  Someone dubbed our family group with a name I heard only second hand and can't recall--Rainbow Coalition?  I don't think that's quite right, but it referenced our lack of uniformity in ethnic backgrounds.  All of my parents' eight great grandchildren have some non-Caucasian blood--ranging from 1/4 to 1/2 when categorized by fraction. Most of those who joined the family as in-laws or by adoption don't need any fractions appended to their identity.

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On Sunday afternoon when the DLM family gathered, we heard from each family member present.  People could tell us what work they do, what hobbies they have, what is important in their field, etc.  Others could ask questions or add to what others said.  I loved it, even though it got pretty long. (Remember the reference to us being a big group?)  Uncle Joe and Aunt Mary and part of their family joined us for parts of this time.

Matthew, my brother-in-law, had a way of getting us all to laugh when he was telling us about his grim cancer prognosis.  He said that the first time the doctor talked about his life expectancy, he was told two to four years.  Three months later, he was told six months to a year.  He said he's a little worried about what he'll hear when he goes back for the next 3-month evaluation, suggesting that maintaining this trend will soon overtake the present and locate "the end" somewhere in the past.  While he was here, he looked well, and seemed to feel well, for the most part.  Having them here was a real pleasure.
Matthew told us all a story that had us laughing uproariously at his "most embarrassing moment."  One of my brothers commented, after he recovered enough to speak again, that what he really wants to hear is the story that tops this one.  As he finished up, Matt noted wryly that Clara had disappeared, in keeping with her urging at the outset that he not tell that story.  I'm not sure that we'll ever walk through the produce section of a grocery story or the health and beauty section without surreptitiously scoping the area for anyone that's "walking funny."  I rather think that the "Midwestern humor" label needs a sub-point to fully describe the genre of Matt's story.  It's a genre that's off-limits for my comp students.

Caleb tells us that in his field, philosophy, the argument for the existence of God is gaining a lot of traction and credibility.  One of his colleagues at Messiah College figures prominently in articulating this position, and professional organizations and publications are looking at the evidence and finding it defensible.

When Myron spoke, he said that his children are making it less easy for him to make assertions without proof or evidence than used to be the case.  When Caleb spoke next, he said that his children, on the other hand, are still accepting his view of things without question.  Everyone laughed at this obviously preposterous claim, having witnessed for the past number of years the capability with which his children challenge him on various matters, in front of an audience, no less.  The political science major graduate particularly has enough background to put some teeth into his position.

I noted during a later discussion on Biblical interpretation that Myron and Caleb differed on their view of the meaning of redaction as a Biblical criticism tool.  Tit for tat, confident assertions abounded.  Finally, the nearest techie with a smartphone was asked to look up the dictionary definition.  After it was read aloud, the last I heard, it seemed that they were both still claiming the victory.

My brother-in-law Roberto is a rather quiet person in our family circle.  His humble stance belies his role elsewhere.  He is director of the Nazarene denomination's multicultural  programs.  In the US and Canada, 1,000 different congregations answer ultimately to him, in terms of church organization, and he is the person at the top of a group crafting a PhD program for pastors-in-training.  He spends a lot of time traveling, and Carol accompanies him when she can.

 Drew, my niece Emily's boyfriend, already has Miller as a surname, which could be a little confusing to those trying to figure out which Levi Miller or DLM branch he was born in.  He's working toward a career in financial planning and advising, and hopes eventually to hold the same charter that our son Joel holds in this field.  Emily works for Cerna, a firm that supplies software to hospitals and other medical facilities.  Her territory is mostly in California, and she travels there often.

One day recently, when she was hurrying through an airport in California, she saw someone she thought looked uncannily like "Papito," her father.   She kept watching him until she got close enough to see that it was indeed her father.  He was on his way to or from a meeting in connection with his church work, and she was there on business, and here, "like ships passing in the night" they saw each other.  Back in the KC area they live in the same house.

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I'm sure that for the next days I'll be recalling many more interactions, and smiling to myself often.  I'll gather up the loose ends to a few conversations, reach conclusions on matters that got an airing but not a conclusion, and wish for a chance to redo some of my words.  All in all, I really treasure the ways in which interaction within the family can stretch us and help us grow.  To have in common a desire to follow the Lord makes it even more delightful.