From Cousin Jean

Dear Marky,

I’m recalling New York in June, when my family came to visit your family before we set sail on the SS United States heading for England. Your mom fixed us an Italian dinner with crusty, buttery garlic bread. My mother never used garlic and bought only Pepperidge Farm bread. I wore a black and white dress with black belt and flats. I was 13, and you were younger, though you seemed older. You had a case filled with stage makeup your dad had bought you and you said you put on faces and assumed a voice and made up characters. We talked about how big New York was, you were very proud to be a New Yorker living across the street form Central Park. I argued that New York wasn’t as big as Chicago because New York had four towns in one, Manhattan being your town. You got so frustrated with me, and I knew I was being a jerk, but I wanted to win the argument. I went to the bathroom and saw a cockroach scoot across the tiny black and white tiles, the first I’d ever seen. It was huge. I told you about it, and you said, “Oh, yeah. We get those a lot.” Like that. I was really freaked, and you were nonchalant.

When I saw you next you were in high school in Van Nuys, practicing your guitar and playing in a band. You eventually switched to classical guitar, and you sounded so good. Your mom wanted to talk about things with you, but you said she didn’t understand you, and you just wanted her to back off. I talked to her and explained how you just wanted some privacy, and that seemed to calm her down. She was really worried about losing her connection with you. I didn’t know it then, but it’s pretty normal for a young man to need his mom less and less and want to be with his dad more and more. You did. You and your dad were going on summer vacation to San Francisco and your mom and John were coming later. You sat up front with your dad while he drove the Volvo along highway one all the way up the coast. I was in the back seat watching the ocean and the sky and we stopped and took pictures. You were pretty content, sitting and talking with your dad.

I visited you and your mom many times after that at 5445 Sunnyslope. But the time that stands out was when the Olympics came to LA. I brought my three kids and you showed me I could rent a car cheap at Rent a Wreck. We went to Universal Studios and later I drove your mom and my kids to the Berea Tar Pits. I wanted to take her out to dinner, but she wouldn’t let me. She said I needed to save my money. We came home and she made us butter pasta and tiny shrimp with steamed broccoli.

We weren’t very good company because we were going through a divorce. You hung around the house anyway and showed Carley and Jesse your Beta movie collection. We swam in the pool a lot and collected lemons off the ground. You helped Jesse figure where to roller blade without getting lost and generally were a brother to me. I took pictures of you next to your father’s rose bushes in front of your house with Carley and Jesse.

I remember more but this little bit has helped me. Thanks for the memories, Mark.

Cousin Jean Robbins
Seneca South Carolina