Two Families

Two Families

Here's the story of a lovely lady
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls
All of them had hair of gold, like their mother,
The youngest one in curls

Here's the story, of a man named Brady,
Who was busy with three boys of his own,
They were four men, living all together,
Yet they were all alone

If this is familiar to you it’s likely that you have passed the tenth anniversary of your fiftieth birthday.

That little ditty is from the opening theme from the television program The Brady Bunch. As the song suggests the story is about two families who come together with a collection of daughters and sons.

The premise is a little far-fetched, but there is a part of this that resonates with my own family.

When I was very young our family moved to a remote Northern Ontario town where my father had a job teaching high school. At first, we lived in a humble second story apartment just down the street from what I later learned was the local house of ill repute.

When Dad had saved up enough money, we relocated to a modest bungalow in a newly developed subdivision. Shortly after we moved in, the twins were born and we became a family of four boys. Next door to us was a colleague of my father’s and his four girls.

Every time I tell friends this story, they ask if any of the boys and girls ever ended up together. I suppose that’s where we diverge from the Brady Bunch saga.

The girls next door were our best friends, our babysitters and I think all of my brothers would admit, even our first crushes.

By the time I was old enough for high school we moved to another part of town and the girls next door became memories.

I’m not a huge fan of Facebook, but there are nuggets there to be found amongst the dirt and rubble.  I recently started following a page dedicated to memories of my old hometown and came in contact with the youngest sister of our old next-door neighbours. We became Facebook friends and I sent her a description of what had happened with everyone in our family.

In her response there was one sentence that hit me as hard as anything I have ever read.

“Joey died.”

I haven’t had any contact with any of the girls for about fifty years, but this information still stung.

The fabric of our lives is spun through with the existence of others. Life is about other people. When we lose those who were important to us even in our misty past, a little bit of ourselves is lost.

One of my daughters had her first child at the beginning of COVID. My wife and I have been lucky enough to see our grandson, Casper once, but my other daughter has yet to be with her nephew. When I talk with my girls, it’s obvious how much it hurts them to be apart and unable to share in the joy of little Casper.

We all need each other and should be grateful for the time we have with those who share our lives. Friends and family are more important than we often appreciate.

In memory of Joey Williamson