I hope you've all marked your calendars to save July 14-16 for the upcoming McKenzie Family Reunion in Mansfield, Ohio. As you know from previous communications, Roger and Betty have generously offered their place for the weekend and my son Stephen Jr. tells me they have a banya (Russian-style sauna)! So even if you don't feel like a sauna in July, I hope you'll join the rest of the clan in admiring the structure from the outside during what promises to be an absolute blast!
Now, as for "the rest of the clan," a great deal of thought and energy has gone into planning this event. A lot of which has been mine. I don't want to sound sanctimonious, but I will be gravely disappointed and hurt if the number of people currently committed to the weekend (5) does not increase in the ten days between now and the Reunion.
I have sent out nearly 200 invitations in the past seven months and have received only one R.S.V.P. (a negative from Albert McKenzie, whose leg was broken when he received the invite but who, as far as I know, is now healed). I guess my feeling at this point is, Come on, McKenzies, we can do better!
Maybe Larry McKenzie, who graduated from B.U. and then attended B.C. Law, is competitive with his cousin Celia, who graduated from B.C. and went on to B.U. Law, but you each now live in Westchester, are married to physicians, and have children in private day schools, so isn't it time to bury the hatchet?
And yes, Bitsie did receive an inappropriate birthday card from Gus years ago. Many of us saw it and all of us agreed it was in poor taste and denigrating to Bitsie's newfound spirituality. But while I'm not excusing Gus's action, ashrams were in the news at that time and not always in a favorable light.
No one's denying the skirmish over Aunt Sadie's will was unpleasant and divisive. Nor is anyone denying that Aunt Sadie herself was unpleasant and divisive. But Hank, if you let this disagreement keep you from seeing Bruce this July, you know who wins? Sadie. You know who loses? You and Bruce. Now, Hank, you may feel you've already "lost" everything to Bruce. You may feel the terms of Sadie's will yanked you out of bed naked, hogtied you to the back of a Ford Bronco, and dragged you down a cinder road lined with shards of glass, rusty barbed wire, and, for all I know, an improvised explosive device or two. We're all family and we all know the terms of the will so I'll put it to you plain, Hank: $1.2 million is not that much money. If you live in Manhattan (and I realize Mechanicsville, Virginia is not Manhattan), it's chicken feed. Within a fifteen- block radius of Washington Square, $1.2 million is squat. Even if you have that much, you still can't get into the hot restaurants at a decent hour because they only take e-mail reservations these days.
Oswald, you were in rehab. And then while you were on the road to recovery, you dipped candles in Colonial Williamsburg wearing a frilly shirt and shoes with thick gold buckles. We know this about you. There are no secrets among the McKenzies. So Astrid did not betray you; she did not "out" you, or whatever it's called these days. If you want me to rent billboard space outside the Cleveland airport (the sole thing I haven't done while working tirelessly to put this weekend together) and announce to the world: "Oswald Kaynor is not now dipping, nor has he ever dipped candles in Colonial Williamsburg," I will do so, but in my opinion it's simply not necessary.
Sheila, you had your stomach stapled. Naturally we were suspicious: you lost 135 pounds in six weeks. So the cat's out of the bag. Big deal! You know what else is out of the bag? You look great. You can enter a bar for the first time in a decade without hiding behind a fern or the jukebox. I tell you this now, Sheila: When you do come to Mansfield, and I know you will, wear a hot-pink miniskirt and hold your head high.
Speaking of doctors, Teddy, you've applied to medical school eight times. No biggie. Your mother's stopped writing it on Christmas cards, but we know you're still trying. So what? Quitters never win and winners never quit. And you're neither quitter nor winner: you're a doctor. That's how I think of you: Dr. Teddy McKenzie. That's how we all think of you: a southern George Clooney. You know what the letters M.C.A.T. actually stand for? Mansfield Craves Absolute Teddy. Here's my Rx for you: an airline ticket to Cleveland, pronto.
Cynthia, you performed a sex act on Lyman the day of his wedding to Julie. That was a no-no. Many of those waiting to use the bathroom knew you were cousins. But it's water under the bridge: Lyman and Julie are no longer together, so let's move on. The Reunion is a time, as Kundera might say, of laughter and forgetting.
It boils down to this, people: how the hell can we have a tug o' war with five people? Can you imagine Roger, Betty, my husband, our son, and me dancing under a magnificent tent on which a substantial non-refundable deposit has already been made, drinking top-drawer liquor purchased in a March fire sale, and savoring delicacies provided by a choice caterer who has already been booked and paid nearly in full? Sure, it'll be fun, but not as fun as if you other 183 McKenzies join us.
Like any other family (or at least the Kennedys), we've had our share of separation, divorce, ugly child-custody battles, restraining orders, estrangement, extra-marital affairs, drug addiction, vehicular manslaughter, drowning, suicide, and deppression.
I know at Thanksgiving several years ago when Caitlin read her term paper on sexual molestation in the Hasidic community, more than a few McKenzies laughed. I was one of them: guilty as charged. But who's laughing now, Caitlin? You showed great foreknowledge in that essay and now the truth is splashed across the pages of the "New York Times": Jewish perverts.
I want my next group e-mail to you to be instructions on how to reach the Mansfield Children's Museum, with its fascinating interactive exhibits and discounts for groups of ten or more. The weekend of July 14th, I want us all frolicking in the museum's ball pit and learning about the surface of Neptune. And Caitlin, bring along that term paper: I'd like to read it.
