Week 51 – Cousins

 

Over the past year or so, I’ve connected or reconnected with many cousins via social media. One group in particular are my Pennington cousins. I’ve known their names for my entire life, but do not recall any contact with them when I was small.  It’s bizarre, really, because we lived in the same area, share so many mutual friends outside of our family, and had a myriad of identical experiences with some of the same family members.  It’s almost like we were living in an alternate universe.  The only reasonable explanation is that my mother was the same generation as their grandparents, and as she had me so late in life, I was the same generation as their parents. I did have rare interactions with the few cousins on my Powers side when I was younger, but never developed a closeness with any of them as we lived so far apart. My second cousin, Beverly, had reached out to my dad in the 1980’s when she became interested in family history. She and I became close after my dad’s death. Fortunately, I’ve been able to connect with her daughter, and our Missouri cousins. I’m enjoying getting to know them. The majority of these are all second or third cousins, but I also have countless distant cousins with whom I communicate with often.

Although I have a very large extended family, my grandparents had only eight grandchildren, four of them in my immediate family. I am the youngest first cousin of my generation by several years. I was closer in age to some of my nieces and nephews.  My cousins lived in New Mexico and California, and except for Jimmy, I spent very little time with any of them.  Jimmy would come to Oklahoma from California in the summers to visit our grandparents. His trip usually included a visit to our house for a few days. I loved to torment him with my crazy overprotective dog, Buttons. Jimmy may, or may not, have been trapped up in a tree for an entire afternoon with my little sheltie foaming at the mouth to get to him, as I watched (and laughed). Jimmy was the next closest in age and as we grew older, we became as close as most siblings.  He was the only cousin that I could say I really knew. Until…

At a family reunion several years ago (in the late 1980s), my sister, who lives in the town near where my great-grandparents homesteaded, showed us a classified ad recently placed in the local newspaper.  The original like this often; some long-lost relative discovers their roots and goes in search of family, but in this case, we all knew our great-uncle…and his children…and their children, some of whom were in the room with us. It was the topic of conversation for about a minute before it was completely forgotten.

During World War II, California was a melting pot of US servicemen.  Most of these men were away from home for the first time; many had wives, and children.  Such was the case with my mother’s double cousin.  Norval Pennington was a fun-loving, friendly fellow.  He never met a stranger.  During the spring of 1946 while stationed there, he took comfort from a woman and was then deployed overseas.  Our story begins nine months later.

Maxine (or Max as I call her – and I’m the only one with that privilege) was born the following January.  She was adopted by a couple who were living in California at the time, but shortly thereafter moved to Houston, Texas.  Maxine was raised as an only child to older parents.  The fact she was adopted was never a secret.  She always felt special because she was chosen to be their daughter.  It wasn’t until she became pregnant with her own child that she began to wonder about her biological family.  Initially, she didn’t care about who the people were, but wanted to know if there were any medical issues that she should be concerned with that she might pass on to her unborn son.  Being born in California, her adoption records were sealed.  Although her parents never kept the fact that she was adopted a secret, they were not forthcoming with any information about her birth parents.  Through sheer determination and with help from adoption groups, Maxine was finally able to learn the name of her birth mother.

When they met, in 1982, her birth mom brought a photo of her biological father. She had never told him of Maxine’s existence because she didn’t want to marry him, never mind the fact he was already married. That photo had been kept for almost forty years, so you have to assume there must have been something there. She gave Maxine the photo, and the name of her birth father – Norval Pennington. It took a year and a half before Maxine found Norval. When she finally did, she gave him a call, told him who her mother was and that he was her dad. In true Ditmore/Pennington fashion he responded, “The hell you say!” He was delighted and told her to come meet the family and never once questioned that she wasn’t his biological daughter.  Phone conversations were as close as they ever came.  Norval passed away on 19 March 1987.

Maxine placed an ad in the local newspaper where Norval grew up, looking for family members.  No one responded.

Fast forward several years later, I had become interested in genealogy.  One day I received an email from a woman who said she might be related to our family.  She wasn’t very open when I asked questions, and I learned later this was because she didn’t know if her sudden appearance in the family might be upsetting to some.  Nevertheless, Maxine and I became fast friends.  We had each grown up so differently, but we joked that we shared the same brain.  We finished each other’s sentences, and within no time, it felt like we had known each other our entire lives.  When we met in person, I had no doubt she was family.  She looked exactly like her grandmother, my great-aunt Myrtle.

When Maxine eventually told me that she believed she was Norval’s daughter, I didn’t know what to say.  I knew that Norval would have been married when Maxine was conceived.  Norval had a son who was older than Maxine whom I hadn’t seen for many years, but I regularly spoke with Norval’s sister, Margie.  I decided to give Margie a call.  I thought about easing into the conversation, but I’m not much for beating around the bush.  I blurted out that I was pretty sure Norval had a daughter who was given up for adoption.  Her response, “Oh my Goodness!  I always knew she was out there but had no idea how to find her.”  It seems that Norval had confided in his sister about Maxine’s existence.  Margie wasn’t the only one he confided in.  He had also told his son, Norval Jr.  Maxine was immediately welcomed into our very large family and her half-brother couldn’t wait to introduce her as his sister. 

When their Aunt Lila Fay died, Norval Jr. called Maxine and wanted her to attend the funeral in Oklahoma. They had a great time together and had a tour of the cemetery to see all the family graves. A reception and dinner were held before the funeral where Norval Jr. took her around to introduce her to all the family, telling them she was his half-sister, Norval’s daughter. Only thing…he hadn’t told anyone about her beforehand.  After the initial split second of surprise, she was welcomed with open arms. That’s just how we roll.

My grandfather Ditmore had a sister, Myrtle, who married my grandmother’s brother, Fred Pennington. From a family photo, c 1920, Myrtle Ditmore Pennington was holding her son, Norval. Sitting next to her was my grandmother, Mable Pennington Ditmore, holding her daughter, Luella (my mother). Who would have guessed that eighty years later, their grandchildren would have found each other under these unusual circumstances.

Have you ever met someone for the first time and instantly known they would be your lifelong friend?  That’s exactly how I felt when I first met Max. It is truly a miracle that I have her in my life. What if she had never sought out her birth family?  Maybe her birth mother never gave her the name of her father. Or what if I hadn’t responded to her email?  I can say without hesitation she is my very best friend. She is my “person.”  So, the next time you get a strange email or letter from someone who thinks they’re related to you – follow up.  You never know, they might end up being your “person,” too.