An Enlightened Family Evening
Atlanta, GA
May 4, 2019
“Uh, oh. We better be careful…he’s probably going to editorialize about this evening.”
“Don’t worry”, I assured George as we left last night, “I wouldn’t do that…”
Much like you should never finalize a deal while riding on the other person’s yacht, you should never take seriously anything uttered after 10pm at a Franklin family gathering.
My assurance was a bit like an Iowa campaign pledge nine months before the primary. Few were really listening to it, fewer cared about it, and, by the next day, no one would remember it.
But then, as the next day begins to dawn, the birds begin to chirp, and heads begin to pound, we reach up, split the blinds, and glance at the beer bottles and bodies strewn across the lawn.
And then, slowly, it all begins to come back to us.
Molly greeted us at the door, Katy and Perry extended hugs and handshakes, and George, ever quick on the draw, offered drinks. Within twenty minutes, Christy and Steve arrived from the airport, dropped their luggage in the foyer, and grabbed their glasses.
The stage was set, the players were ready, and the script became less relevant with each passing scene. Perry and Steve were good enough to have birthdays within a month or two of yesterday’s date, providing ample pretext for a Franklin party.
A few gifts were given, several tales told, and more wine poured. And a theme emerged.
This family already having started one notable golf tournament in Georgia, our host decided he would use the round he and his sons-in-law were playing the next morning as pretext to launch another. Swag is being distributed, and television rights and sentimental guitar music are no doubt being arranged.
Nowhere on last night’s menu were pimento sandwiches. What was on there was terrific…a wonderful complement to a home that is always immaculate, a beautiful interior that on this night was susceptible to company known to clutter a room with scattered stories and piles of opinions.
A few of those stories were about those of us in attendance; a few more were about most of you who weren’t.
As in any large, comfortably dysfunctional family, we were amazed how many of us are different as night from day…and somewhat disturbed that others of us are similar as dawn to dusk.
Enlightenment, a noted feature of any Franklin family gathering, permeated the evening. One daughter at the table learned for the first time that her father’s early political hero was Hubert Humphrey.
Having mesmerized his daughter by sharing intimate details of, and personal reflections on, his early philosophical formation and political influence, he was then, in the manner of an 18th Century Parisian Salon, equally enlightened by her.
“Huh? Who’s Hubert Humphrey?”
A few minutes later, as her father pulled his face from his hands, she was again surprised, this time to learn that a much younger version of the cousin sitting beside her had apparently told the woman who would one day be his wife that no wife of his should ever work.
Apparently, Hubert Humphrey hadn’t been his hero!
Actually, she wondered, had this cousin been born before Hubert Humphrey? Had our evening shifted from the Enlightenment to the Middle Ages? What was going on here?
As we move thru life, we must find a way to admit mistakes without throwing away the glimmers of truth we manage to acquire while making them. I like to think I’ve retained a few morsels along the way.
The woman to whom I made my immature pronouncement apparently thought little of it at the time (or, perhaps, a bit too much?). After all, she married the man who uttered it…and has worked tirelessly every day since.
She will do so again today, orchestrating drink concessions and logistics for her son’s high school band fundraiser at our local “Taste of East Cobb” festival where they play each year.
Knowing she had an early morning, we realized we had made last evening far too late a night. But one that we thoroughly enjoyed and greatly appreciated.
And that you won’t hear any more about from me. I did, after all, assure our host.
JD
