by Kerri Staggs

Created on: April 24, 2008   Last Updated: February 27, 2011

Billy Joel sang on the radio as we pulled up in front of the old church at the end of the dirt road. The church was white clapboard with a steeple; I had the feeling that our car had taken us back in time. It was a warm, colorful summer day the blue sky stretched over the vivid green grass and yellow corn fields with the bright white church in the middle.

We got out of the car, but instead of going to the front door under the steeple and stained glass, went to the back and descended the stairs into the cool basement. It had the musty smell of an old basement, but was big and well lit. Windows lined the entire upper wall of one side. There were rows of tables and chairs where some of the older relatives rested. A buffet of homemade pot luck dishes filled the open kitchen on the other side of the basement, along with the longest and fullest dessert table I had ever seen in all my eight years. It was as noisy as any busy diner as family members ate and visited with one another. At the center of the bustle was my grandma.

Grandma always seemed to be smiling, especially when surrounded by family and friends. She was my mother's mother and I, at eight years old, could already see eye to eye with her. She had a round little body on top of tiny legs; short, thin, brushed back hair; glasses; and always that warm, jolly smile. My grandmother was one of the most beautiful people I have ever known because of her resilient joyfulness.

Every year throughout the 1970's and 80's my mother would bring me, my sister and our little brother to the Jordan family reunion. This year, 1980, is the first one I can really remember. The reunion was always on Father's Day (which was also close to my grandma's birthday) at the same old church in the middle of Ohio farmland. 

At each gathering, my grandmother and others spent the day talking and visiting, while my sister and I spent the day running in and around the church with our cousin. We played hide and seek in the towering corn stalks outside; sneaked upstairs into the dark, empty chapel and banged on an old piano we found; we found other kids that we were supposedly related to, but we had no idea how. I remember our cousin introduced us to new music we had never heard before by bands like Blondie and Queen on her dad's car stereo. We enjoyed a freedom from running around that church that we didn't get at home in our small yard.

Occasionally my grandma would stop me, "Remember Fern?"

"No," I would answer, embarrassed, but unable

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