My only sadness is that I was the youngest in our family and had the least amount of experiences with my Western Kentucky family. My dad’s oldest brother, Benton, had settled in this area after he returned from WWII.

There were few vacations that our family enjoyed more in the early years than visiting Uncle Benton & Aunt Trilma and their family. I guess some of the ‘favorite’ stemmed from my dad never seeming more care free than those vacations. He would take on the role of the younger brother as we saw him idolize his older brother, who was a hero to my dad in so many ways.

Now my Aunt Trilma was a piece of work. (In all good and hilarious ways.). She was a feminist, independent and highly opinionated long before these were common terms and certainly well before they were accepted terms for a wife and mother. I think her three girls would tell you she was amazing on all levels, except maybe in mothering. (Insert laughter here.). Aunt Trilma was loud, brash, go-with-the-flow, quick to kiss your check so hard you thought she was turning your face inside out and man could she cook fish. Especially Crappie.

Our families would congregate and camp beside Kentucky Lake and water ski, fish, eat and laugh. Did I mention laughing? In the early trips, my mother would imprison me in a chicken wire holding cell, so I was safe from the water and not chasing my Aunt Lorraine around, biting her. Lore has it that you can still hear my Aunt Lorraine’s voice hollering, “don’t you bite me, Myron,” as the gentle waves of Kentucky Lake lap on the shore. I was a biter. Aunt Trilma was my rescuer. If she saw me in that unjust holding pen, she would always lift me out and turn me loose to bite again. All the while my mother saying, “Myron, how did you get out of there again,” as she heard Aunt Lorraine running and yelling ‘stop biting me.’ Ah, the circle of life at ‘ol Kentucky Lake in the 1960’s.

Now my Aunt Trilma’s father was Eli. And I don’t remember much about him, with one exception. He always had chocolate candy and was ready to share. If I saw Eli, I came running and he would break off one of those Hershey chocolate rectangular pieces for me to enjoy. And boy did I. There was only one problem. Those weren’t pieces from a Hershey bar, they were from an Ex-Lax laxative bar. And they worked!

My chocolate connection kept me quite “regular,” much to my mother’s angst as she dealt with her baby boy going through those cloth diapers like, well, water. I laugh as I write this because I can still see my mom turning around in her car seat as we got close to Uncle Benton’s, saying “Myron, don’t you eat any of Eli’s chocolate!”

I choose to believe that Eli did not intentionally conspire to release my innerds. Aunt Trilma on the other hand, conspired to release me. Aunt Lorraine and my mother colluded to corral me. The truth is, all loved me and we all loved those special days and weeks spent together. Descriptions would include fun, hot, laughter, hard work, love, wet, sweet, sweat, muddy, joy, exhaustion.

These trips were a life metaphor. To experience the beauty of life, you’ve got to accept those Ex-Lax moments. We all need to run at times to enjoy the peace and love in the chaos. Otherwise, there is no appreciation for those sacred moments of life’s gifts.

They’re all long gone to Heaven. Ex-Lax still remains an option for those bound up. Kentucky Lake is still churning out crappie and the smell of corn meal meeting hot oil still fills the air. It’s the journey. The stuff matters little. The promotions only satisfy for a moment. Time, precious time rewards those who soak in the beauty in the chaos of the moments. Next generations are on the hamster wheel, running as hard as they can toward the same, ultimate destination. Where we began.

“For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life;
Weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5 (NKJV)

Don’t eat that chocolate!