Cousin in Love

Before we were married off

Clad in red footie pajamas, my ruddy complexioned cousin, Caleb stood in defiance, obstinate in his refusal to be my (pretend) pupil that blustery day in the winter of 1987. The Eckhardt’s Dublin apartment, though cramped, proffered the treasured chalkboard that served as the pivotal implement in both the formation of my vocational pursuit and -more importantly at that moment- the bossy exploitation of my compliant cousin cohorts.

Since Caleb often successfully eluded my adolescent “leadership,” I feared for his adult fate. During family vacations in the utopia of Ocean City, NJ, we would espy Caleb amid a gathering of girl groupies -not of the cousin variety- on the boardwalk (of love). Fortunately, Caleb has turned out both -not criminal and not uneducated- (in spite of the glaring absence of my Dublin-days tutelage). In recent weeks, he wed his lovely bride who also had the good foresight to avoid any gaggle of Jersey girls on boardwalks. And now, she gets Caleb, red-footie pajamas, cunning wit, social consciousness and all, for every family vacation to Ocean City, until death do they part. Lucky girl.