Now we are Eight

Life has a way of throwing us curve-balls.  Every family is touched by some type of tragic or terrible event, or vagary of existence that you wonder whether or not life is actually fair.  It is not unlike being the middle child in a large family, you never know what comes your way.  I am one of ten children born to my parents, but not all ten lived at the same time. The last two children in the family were born after the untimely death of our brother Leo.  For almost 50 years we were a family with nine siblings.  The passing of my brother John to cancer in mid-August of this year has now reduced that number to eight surviving siblings.  Eight very different individuals where the shared physical traits can pale to those differences of personality and temperament.

Sunflower display created by Carolyn Hovel at
this years family picnic in honor of John

Large families have some advantages.  As children there was never a lack for someone on which to pick.  Of course if you were the one who was picked on, it could be a different story.  A large family can be an advantage when one is suffering from a terrible scourge, such as cancer.  My brother John, who passed away just over two months ago from cancer, recognized this quite well.  His posts on his cancer fight often focused on what family meant, not just his wife and two daughters, but his brothers, sisters, and his nieces and nephews.  The large family has produced a fair amount of cousins.  While I only have one first cousin, my children have many more.  John recognized a special talent in each of his children and their cousins.  Among John’s many attributes was an ability to see the good, and recognize the talents and gifts of each individual.  But, it was not the size of the family that was its strength.  It was actually the special values and traits of each family member, which John so well recognized, that allowed him to find strength in the family.  John had a special way of relating to his nieces and nephews.  Perhaps it was his outlook on life, or perhaps it was his having coached girls’ soccer for so many years that he learned the interactions with the millennial generation.  With all the drama that teenage girls produce, he must have had the temperament of a saint. Whatever it was that helped him relate, it was likely aided by his level of intelligence and observation skills. Given this, it was fitting that his pall bearers were nieces and nephews. 

Nieces and nephews as pall bearers

Being in a large family also means that there are more eyes on the street.  You never know where you may see a family member.  One story illustrates this quite well.  While I was in high school, I went out with a group of friends, and we caught a late night snack at what was then a Lums Restaurant on East Washington Avenue, near what was then Kmart (now Hy-Vee).  Forty years ago I could eat late at night, with no need to worry about pounds, or even worse, acid reflux.  While enjoying this late night snack, in walks John and a young lady.  Perhaps it was me not wanting to intrude but I simply nodded as I left, but my friends were more curious and some engaged in conversation with John and his lady friend.  Bad knees and all, John would often join us in games of football or some other activity, so my friends knew him quite well.  The next morning, we did what all good Catholic families would do, and go to church.  Mass was followed by a large breakfast which my Dad would make.  The fare was usually pancakes and bacon or sausages with orange juice.  The two youngest would demand, and receive, chocolate chip pancakes, often in the form of a bunny.  Anyway, my mother was a typical mother and would worry about her children, even if they were of legal age.  There was something unusual about that morning, however. John was not at the breakfast table, and in fact, he never came home the night before.  I did not know this until that time, but my mother and father, with their bedroom facing the driveway, had an uncanny knack for being on top of things. I guess with all the boys they had, they had this sixth sense.  Of course, my Mom, like most, also had eyes in the back of her head. Anyway, Mom was going on and on during breakfast on whether or not John was alright, because he had not come home that evening.  If I heard it once from her during breakfast, I heard it twenty times.  I have never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I knew enough that I had a dilemma.  Do I mention that I saw John and then get the third degree, or do I let my Mom worry? Being the dutiful middle child, I tried to take a middle route.  It was probably after mention #18 that I said under my breath, to no one in particular, “I saw him last night.” 

Selection from one of John's emails, displayed at his wake

At a boisterous breakfast table I partially had the hope that my statement would register, but perhaps not fully.  But, it did register.  I suspect breakfast that morning was not as loud as in the past due to Mom’s ruminations about her little boy.  (John did not earn the less than endearing nickname “Runt” from our older brothers for no reason.)  When asked again to repeat what I had said I did so, but adding a new wrinkle—“I saw him last night, and he was with a girl.”  The addition of the last part had its intended effect of Mom realizing that while he may now be safe, there were other reasons with which to worry.  It also put an end her verbal wondering, but I am sure a whole series of questions were floating around in her mind.  Interestingly, I really do not recall much of any specific reaction from either of my parents that Sunday morning.  What information Mom was able to get out of John when he eventually made it home, I do not know.

Sunflower, symbol of the Triumph fund
(Google images)

At that age John was already well experienced in talking like a lawyer.  I think it was a gift with which he was born and cultivated throughout his life, so I am sure he made some case to Mom about why it was easier for him to spend the night in Madison, than to travel home.  I don’t know many people who can come close to winning an argument with their mother, but John was probably the closest. 

John received grade school sportsmanship award
(Newspaper archives online)

John may have been the runt of the family, but he would make up for his smaller stature by his quick wit, and his more impressive knowledge base.  He was also quite an athlete, earning honors at the pool hall in downtown Sun Prairie, likely Sun Prairie’s version of Minnesota Fats.  He also played a hard game of ping pong.  He was the proud owner of a 3M bookshelf game called “Facts in Five” in which you had a category and had to relate five facts.  He put his knowledge of bureaucracy to good use, for when the time came to create one’s own category he would do so with acronyms.  He would then bedazzle us with some bizarre nomenclature for a little known government agency.  In the pre-internet days it would have us going to the dictionary or encyclopedia.  Whatever sport, or activity he was in he did not like to lose, and would find some way to sneak a victory from what we thought may be certain defeat.  I had this happen first hand a number of times when we played table hockey—you know the game--the one with the over sized puck and thin men controlled by sticks underneath the playing surface.  I am sure it was a common game in northern households.

John making it to the top of the family pyramid
(photo by a family member)

Even though I was the middle child, I was associated with the younger children in the family.  Growing up, John was part of the “older boys.”   He was part of that group whose reputations well proceeded us in high school.  Leo Martin, would have been the son to bridge the gap between the older boys (of which John was the youngest) and us younger children, but he would leave this earth at the young age of four due to a terrible accident on USH 51. As we grew older, John would become the bridge with the older boys.  Even before his illness, family was important.  After our Dad died in 2003 there was talk of whether or not we should end the family picnic, which our brother Mike has dutifully arranged for many years in Stevens Point.  John was one of the most vocal (when was he not vocal?) in retaining the family picnic. 

John was too ill to make it to the family picnic in person this year, but he was present in his spirit.  Perhaps it was one of his last gifts that most of us were assembled for the family picnic in Stevens Point, when news came down that his cancer had progressed to encapsulate a majority of his liver.   The strength of the family was not shown simply in its numbers on that day, but in values and attributes John would recognize and appreciate.  While we have differences in our personalities, politics and purpose, there are also some core values that we share, the most important likely being the meaning of family.  John was instrumental in keeping that meaning alive and well.  His death will not dilute the meaning of family, but strengthen it.  His lived life with a strong sense of purpose which has taught us all lessons.  He had an uncommon courage, which was a privilege to see in action.

Grilled sweet corn, one of the ever present foods
at the Hovel family picnic

We are now eight.  We do not know what the future holds, but I do know that Thanksgiving, Christmas, the family picnic, and our other host of gatherings will be experienced in a different manner over the next twelve months, and in the years after. 

John would have been 62 years of age today.  A life cut short, a husband, father and brother who is missed, but whose life lives on in the memories of his family.

Full moon.  Photo by Joseph P. Hovel