I’m Wondering

If you read my blog, you can go back to the very beginning and read my first post from November of 2017.  I’ve written about all sorts of things.  The common theme is twofold.  The stories are about me, and everything is the truth as I remember it.

If you’ve signed up on the website, you’re supposed to get an email each time I post.  I link each story to my Facebook account and several people follow me that way.  If you comment on the website, what you write is available for all to see. I must “approve” your first comment, but once I’ve approved you for one, all of your additional comments are approved automatically.  If I don’t like what you say, I can always delete.  I’ve never censored anyone.  Yet.

If you comment on my Facebook page, everyone sees what you write.

There’s a back side to the website that lets me know how many people have read each post and where the readers are from.  I don’t know who’s read it, just how many.  I can check on it whenever I want.

Lately, within the past two weeks, over forty people have read a blog I posted on May 6, 2020.  The readers are from all over the world: Scotland, Ireland, Germany, Sweden, Canada and even China.  I don’t understand the sudden interest.  Perhaps people are searching for the definition of Kissing Cousin and stumble across this story.

A kissing cousin is, by definition, a distant relative known well enough to kiss when greeting.  For example:  I’m not sure exactly how I’m related to her, she’s just a kissin cousin.

When I was a young boy, 0 – 12, my dad expanded my kissing requirement to any, and all, females related to me. He threw in a few close friends as well. While I don’t really remember the 0 – 4 years, what happened after I turned five must have been in effect during the prior four.  When I reached my teens, I took control of my kisses and sprinkled them about sparingly.

We attended family gatherings on a regular basis.   We traveled to somebody’s house multiple times each month for “a visit”.  There were gatherings on both my mom and dad’s side of the family.  While I enjoyed seeing the people, I wasn’t a fan of the departure.

My mom’s side was pretty straight forward.  Several of our gatherings were held at my grandparent’s house.  Many of the visits included just our family and Grandma and Grandpa Barner.  Before my mom started to drive, we’d take the train from Royal Oak to Detroit on Friday afternoons, and Grandma picked us up.  We’d spend the afternoon and have a fish fry when Grandpa and Dad got off work.  Departures were pretty straight forward.  Hugs for everyone and then I’d kiss Grandma good-bye.  Grandpa would rub the top of my head, or shake my hand, follow that with a kiss on the cheek, and we were off.

Larger gatherings for somebody’s something required more good-bye kissing.  Each aunt, Ruth, Jean, Millie and Phyllis, joined Grandma on the good-bye kiss train.  One quick smack for each was the norm.  Aunt Ruth was known to double kiss on more than one occasion.  She just couldn’t help herself.

When Grandma included her brothers and sisters and their families at our gatherings, the line grew longer.  My protests went unheeded.  My dad expected me to leave each woman with a kiss good-bye.  Older cousins occasionally stepped forward as well.  Protests fell on deaf ears.  I found it best to get in, get out, and get gone.

During our trips to Kentucky to visit Old Granny Barner, Grandpa’s mom, we encountered an expanded list of relatives.  Many were truly cousins, but most were just “kissin cousins”.  We knew them well enough that everyone expected, and received, a kiss.  My puckerer was worn out after those trips.

Gatherings on the Tebo side of the family were an entirely different beast.  We kissed on the way in as well as the way out.  Kissing Aunt Bern, Gert, Dutch, and Julia were all encompassing affairs.  They included bear hugs.  The larger the aunt, the more over-whelming the hug.  I was captive until they decided it was time to let loose.  I believe that their exuberance was inspired by the fact that I was the only son of their only brother.

Grandma Tebo’s kisses were more tempered, but still filled with joy.  Grandpa Tebo’s were on the cheek, or forehead, and very tender.  His chewing tobacco habit inspired his tactic.

The same routine was followed as we arrived, and later, when we departed.  At the time I deemed it a form of “double jeopardy”.

All of the afore mentioned kissers have passed.  If I had the opportunity to step back in time to revisit those kisses, I’d jump at the chance, wet lips and all.

What I really want to know is, do you have any theories why this story has piqued such interest?   I welcome your input, because I’m wondering.