The Daughter of the Prodigal Son

August 08

My daddy has lived in Dallas so long, I forget sometimes he was actually born and raised in about as far north as you can get in Maine. Listening to his Texas twang, you'd never know where he's from.

He had left Maine about a month or so after I was born. And rarely goes back, despite the fact he works for an airline that provides free airline tickets for him and his immediate family.

But I do have such fond memories of those rare trips we did make. They would always welcome us back with open arms. And it was always so interesting to me, who looks just like my father, to see my features on various family members.

This weekend I'm visiting my kids at summer camp, which also happens to be in Maine as well. I decided that given its been 10 years since my last visit, I should.

I arrived late last night to a wonderful dinner and was brought up to speed on the dozen or so cousins of my generation. Which I'm embarrassed to admit, I don't always remember their names. This morning, my aunt (Daddy's sister) brought me coffee on their deck. I was watching the sun rise over the lake.

The thing I appreciate about my family (both sides) is that there is indeed this connection. I'm immediately comfortable and at ease. I love listening to the stories of my dad from their point of view. All of his siblings that are still living called to say "welcome to Maine" last night.

Today I'll be picking up my kids and bringing them back here to spend the day. (It's my son's birthday too). We're cooking out and enjoying their boat.

Truly, its the feeling loved by people that I confess to barely knowing that is so lovely. They really don't know the woman, I'm loved because I'm their baby brother's baby.

But, I'll take it. And gladly return the love to the people that are my daddy's big sisters/brothers.