But here’s my point:nothing compares to cousins.
The Bear’s Carmy and Richie know it:there’s nothing like “cousins”.Supplied
The Easter break,just past,was the peak season for cousins. Everywhere I went there were armies of children,their parents running behind. “Who are all these kids?” I’d ask,receiving the same answer. “It’s all the cousins. We like getting them together at Easter.”
There may be tensions between the adults – the aunts and uncles,the parents and grandparents – but never between the cousins. They are all part of Team Cousin.
Their enthusiasm does not surprise me. Your cousin is you,but also not you. Your cousin sometimes looks a bit familiar,like yourself,in a misty mirror. Their father,your uncle,reminds you of your own parent – but only a bit. It’s your dad,remade. Then there’s your cousin’s mother. Your mother,but not your mother.
That’s why the child doesn’t mind an aunt or uncle picking them up,carting them around,holding them upside down. They’re familiar. They talk with the same vocal mannerisms as someone you trust,and sometimes – this is so weird! – move their bodies in the same way. The way they hold their shoulders;the way they drop their head when listening.
It makes you feel part of something. A club of sorts. A family. What glory.
There may be tensions between the adults – the aunts and uncles,the parents and grandparents – but never between the cousins.
My oldest grandson,Pip,lives in a different city from his younger cousin. They don’t see each other often. Pip,at three years old,is two years older. But the fascination between the two thrums in the air whenever they are together.
Three-year-old Pip pokes at the face of his not-quite-yet-one cousin. His cousin laughs with delight. Pip then demonstrates the excavation of a flowerpot in which the plant has died,dirt flying everywhere,his cousin following his lead,the two digging in the same mud. Pip’s cousin can’t quite walk,but he can follow his hero in this glorious enterprise.
Mud-splattered by the end,they regard each other with mutual admiration.
This story makes it sound as if Pip is an expert in the complexities of family relationships. Not true. Carrying him up the hill the other day,my bad knees aching,I insisted on putting him onto the ground. He complained as I lowered him from my shoulders.
“But my daddy carries me.”
“Yes,but your daddy is younger than me.”
“No,he’s not!”
This,by the way,was spoken as if I’d said something entirely ludicrous – the moon is a balloon;the earth is a potato. He was keen to make clear he was not falling for such nonsense.
I pressed on,trying to convince him. “It’s true,I’m older than your daddy. I must be! After all,I’m your daddy’s father.”
Pip was not standing for it. “No,you’re not!”
He was not so much aggrieved as spluttering with merriment. Why would his Pa tell such ludicrous tales?
“And”,I said,pointing to the woman walking with the dog beside us,“There’s your Nanna. She’s your daddy’s mummy.”
Pip has had enough of this bullshit. This time,it’s weary and self-protective rather than combative. “No,she’s not. She’s my Nanna.”
A few days later,I asked my daughter-in-law about this conversation. She knows about these things as a mother and as part of her professional life. She says Pip sees the world through primary relationships. I’m his Pa. His daddy is his Daddy. At this developmental stage,the additional relationship between his father and grandfather is surplus to his requirements. The key thing is our role in his life:that of father and grandfather.
I get it. I really do. It’s a lovely and truthful idea. But I do wonder,does Pip think his parents have just chosen some conveniently located elderly couple – “they seem nice,they have a backyard and a pleasant dog” – and decided to drop him off every Thursday?
Which brings us back to his cousin. Here,there is no doubt about the relationship. His cousin is his cousin. No way is this his uncle’s child or his nanna’s second-oldest grandson. Stop complicating things! This is my cousin. This is real. He is me,but he is not me.
Seeing all this,of course,made me think of my own cousins. I was an only child,starved of siblings and even of cousins. All my cousins lived in England.
Then,at age 19,I went there and met them and loved them and went through all that Pip is going through right now. What bliss.
Decades on,my cousin Victoria,maybe knowing I need it,has started calling me “brother” when she writes to me. I call her “sister” when I write back.
Anyway,there’s no better love than cousin love if you are lucky enough to have it,and Easter is the best time to see it.
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