Loud and proud in familiar environs, hawking books in the Historical Building at the Erie County Fair on Saturday, August 10, 2024. Source: Author
It’s a ritual that takes place every August. For me, it started when I was too young to remember. It later intensified when I just turned old enough to learn. Then, after a long period of dormancy, it came back not just with gusto, but with the pleasant perfume of honeyed nostalgia.
We create routines that become habits that end up as traditions. They seem quite random at first, a series of oddly connected dots with no obvious meaning. Later, their regularity brings comfort. Finally, they emerge as rites of passage.
Think about your own life. If you’re like most of us, you can map this template onto certain Continue Reading “On Fried Dough and Kettle Corn”
The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died
JFK Campaign Poster. Source: Unidentified Artist, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Two hundred years. It was a great run while it lasted.
I wrote eight years ago how the establishment Republicans’ alienation of Donald Trump signaled the end of that party, (see “The Night the Grand Old Party Died,” Mendon-Honeoye Falls-Lima Sentinel, April 14, 2016). A week ago, their counterpart decided to return the favor.
To fully appreciate the significance of this, understand I was raised a Kennedy Democrat, pretty much like every other Catholic who grew up in the 1960s. Every home in my family and every home of my family’s friends had two pictures hanging somewhere among their walls. One was of the Pope. The other was of John F. Kennedy.
How effusive was the Kennedy aura in our family? My brother’s name was “Kenneth.” We called him “Kenny.” My great-great aunt Zia Pepe (that would be my mother’s great aunt and my grandmother’s aunt) watched us when my mother had to substitute teach. She called my brother “Ken-eh-dee.” It was a badge of honor for him. He collected all things Kennedy, at least for a short time.
Zia Pepe was babysitting us when JFK was assassinated. The three of us watched it on TV. She cried. We didn’t know why Zia Pepe was crying. As we were watching, our mother Continue Reading “The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died”