It’s funny how names get connected. My twin cousins have always been Gail and Gwen, never Gwen and Gail. Mom and Dad referred to them as “the twins”. “Get ready we’re going to see the twins.” or “We’re meeting the twins at the lake.” Things like that.
They’re the daughters of my Aunt Gert and Uncle Woody. They had an older sister, Jean, who was my godmother. Growing up they lived in Mt. Clemens on Little Road across the street from a cemetery. When I was young the location creeped me out a bit. There was always the threat of ghosts making their way across the street. Uncle Woody spoke of them off and on. Eventually, I figured out he was just kidding.
The twins are a year and three days older than me. This picture of the three of us was taken in my Grandma and Grandpa Tebo’s backyard. If my dad saw this picture today, he’d say we “look like we just got off the boat together”. Three young refugees. I was two and the girls were three.
We spent a lot of time together growing up. My dad took our family to visit “his sisters” on a regular basis. Being the only boy, he was a bit of a family celebrity. The only son of their only brother made me one as well. Aunt Gert grabbed me and pelted me with kisses each time we arrived. I tried, but couldn’t avoid her smothering hugs. It was like getting hugged by a bear.
During one Sunday visit we learned Uncle Woody had a close call the prior day. He was working on the septic tank and fell backwards into the hole. Luckily, his leg caught on the lid before he became submerged in the sludge. He just hung there, head first in the hole. He was trapped for about two hours before one of the girls came home and helped him out.
We made several week-end trips to the beach. They were grand family gatherings full of picnic food and fun. Working for Faygo, Dad always brought pop for the crowd. Everyone thought he got it free, however, that was not the case. He had to buy it just like everyone else. I liked those picnics because it was one of the few times I got a bottle all to myself. My favorite was grape.
During one particularly large gathering the cousins decided to play a new game. At eleven or twelve, I was among the youngest contestants. While I don’t remember everyone, the girls included Gail and Gwen, another set if twins, Lynn and Leslie, and Earleen. My cousins Gene, Tyler, Charles, and I represented the boys. The boys lined up on one side of an inner tube, and the girls lined up on the other. One girl and one boy went under water, popped up in the center of the inner tube, kissed, and circled back to the end of the line. That’s the day I learned how to kiss a girl without the aid of a spinning bottle.
I only saw Gail with one boyfriend. There may have been others, but I never met anyone but John. Their wedding was held one evening while I was at college. My “Freshman Reading” class required all students read a set of books and take a common exam on the same date at the same time. The college officials feared some corruptible students might cheat.
The test and Gail’s wedding were on February 18, 1966. The only way I could make it to the celebration was for my parents to drive one of their cars to Kalamazoo, so I could drive to the reception after my test. They dropped off a car the Wednesday prior to the wedding. When a couple of my freshman friends heard that I was heading home after the test, they asked if they could ride along. Reluctantly, I agreed they could.
We started later than I expected and got lost during the drop-off. I wasn’t really sure of the reception location as this was long before Google and GPS. I was relieved when I found a large group of cars at the reception hall. I parked and walked in the back door. I found myself in the kitchen where one of the workers asked if I had eaten. I hadn’t, so I shoveled down a quick plateful of food and headed in to meet the crowd. When I spotted the bride and groom I knew I was at the wrong wedding reception.
I circled back to the kitchen, got directions to the correct location from the cook, and arrived at the correct reception just in time to wish Gail and John farewell. Better late than never.
In my teens I often took one of my friends when we visited the girls. We’d play baseball in their yard. On one of those trips Gwen took a fancy to my friend, Bill. They liked being together and visiting each other. Being eighteen months older than Bill, Gwen was the first to get her drivers license. When Bill got his, the trips increased. One evening after visiting Bill, Gwen was involved in a horrible crash. We got the call and headed to Mt. Clemens to check on her. We made the daily trip until she recovered.
She met the nephew of her hospital roommate during her stay. After her discharge she started dating Duane, leaving Bill in the dust. She married Duane. Some might speculate that if Gwen hadn’t visited Bill that day, she wouldn’t have been involved in the crash and never met Duane.
It’s funny how events get connected.
