The Pleasure of Life
The answer is family
Chuck Hansen

Over the span of a Depression that no miracle pill could ease and a global war unlike any in history, my grandparents, Agnes and Alfred Guthrie, brought 12 children into this world. My mom is eighth in that line of 12 children, born in 1940.

From these 12 (and their mates) were born 42 children, and from those children (and their mates) have sprung many, many dozens more.

I've just returned from the biennial reunion of this family, held at a camp in West Virginia. In keeping with tradition, the weekend started Friday night with a mini-bonfire. As Guthries and kin wandered in - from Seattle, Buffalo, San Francisco, St. Petersburg, San Diego and many points in between - the adults settled in on benches around the fire to catch up, and the kids found their age grouplets to hang out with. Eric Scott, a genuine folk singer (with the New Familiars), played a soft guitar in the background (accompanied by the Loud Kid Kazoo Improv Band). And despite all the chattering and laughing and music and kazoos, several small groups of deer passed through the shadows at the edge of the firelight.

In the morning the reunion began in earnest over a classic dining hall breakfast of coffee, eggs, bacon, pancakes and biscuits. Conversations that had been left almost mid-sentence two years earlier were picked up and continued as if they'd never been interrupted.

There's something about being part of a big family, looking around and seeing the same face on 70 people, so alike and yet differing from each other in distinctive ways. My siblings and I shot through with Norwegian blonde, the Italian flair of the Riccis, the Curtain family kids and their red hair, the unmistakable voice and accent of Gerry and Beverly's kids…

More than just a facial structure, we share a history, a culture, even a sense of humor - not just the running jokes that grow in-depth every year, but brand new jokes too that tap the consistently sharp sense of humor that seems to course through all of us.

And we share each other's pain - addictions, afflictions and setbacks in life. The beauty of a large family is that you often see that you are not the only one with a particular problem.

By far, though, it is the happiness and love that overwhelms. Between massive squirt gun battles, an all-day crafting table, bird-watching walks, spontaneous outbreaks of singing (usually standards from the '40s and '50s), organizing and taking the group picture (70 cats would be a precision marching troupe by comparison), the ubiquitous family cheer ("Goooood job! Good, good, good job!"), family photos, letters and memories, marathon volleyball games that only darkness can stop, and the crowning event of the weekend, the family skits, it's a three-day funapalooza.

The skits are a laugh riot. Older Guthries perform vaudeville routines that haven't been heard in 50 years and young kids try out their stand-up comedy skills on a friendly room. In one case, two young brothers performed a magic act that required one to close his eyes and cover his ears so he couldn't hear the answer that he was supposed to guess. While he had his eyes closed and fingers in his ears, one of his uncles called out to him: "Hey Timothy!"

"What?!" he replied immediately, eyes popping open. The resulting group belly laugh lasted three minutes, I swear. Meanwhile, Timothy beamed at his apparent success.

Where does it come from? The automatic assumption of good faith, the endearing group frugality, the consistently strong if not consistently consistent spirituality, the welcoming of new in-laws (whether they can handle us or not - their choice, and we welcome them either way), the nearly unconditional approval of almost anything you've set out to accomplish in life or do for a living (as a former blackjack dealer, donut maker, private eye, bar bouncer, factory tour guide, telemarketer and on and on, I've benefited from this), the shared, steadfast, comfortably consistent culture, the unwavering love and acceptance… where does this come from?

It's not from familiarity - we are tossed across the country like apple seeds, and most of us see the rest of us only once every two years. It can't be heredity entirely - every sibling's family has been infused with new genes (Uncle Gene no doubt credits "gene-etics"…), and yet the culture remains.

Another point - I could have written this column about the Hansen family reunions (my dad's side gets together every one or two years), and it would have included an entirely different but equally wonderful set of family characteristics.

The answer: it's family. It is the chord that connects us, from heart-to-heart, across miles and years. It's tribal, but it's more. I'm a guy who can find plenty of evolutionary logic for the way we behave as individuals and as a species, but for me, not every answer ends with a scientific conclusion. A solution's logic may be inescapable, but the solution's elegance often reflects a truth that goes beyond science.

It's family.