My 2nd Cousin Mike

The other day one of my sisters ran into my 2^nd cousin Mike. She told me that he is still living in town and is healthy. I’ve got to say that the mere thought of Mike brings back all kinds of thoughts and memories. Too many, really.

Mike’s family used to live near my family back when I was a kid, many decades ago. He is the son of an actual cousin, and we share the same last name, which proved to be a mixed blessing, at best. Mike is about four years older than me. His family lived on one side of the school zone, my family lived on the other. Though he lived fairly close-by, I have met Mike only about a half a dozen times in my life.

I got to know him, or rather his legend, when I was going through school. Along my scholastic travels, a handful of teachers remembered Mike when I showed up to class several years after Mike’s departure. He was a great boy, it was declared unanimously. I was informed by one or two of the men teachers that Mike was one rugged lad. In high school, where Mike played baseball, I was edified as to Mike’s incredible athletic ability, his grit and gumption. My 2^nd cousin was a real gamer, apparently. I was told by the women teachers that Mike was polite and courteous, not to mention good-looking. I clearly recall Mrs. Henle describing Mike as “a very handsome young man”.

I first met Mike in person at a family get-together when I was barely more than a toddler. I remember little more than he was this friendly boy who occupied the time of my sisters and me while the grown-ups played with the charcoal grill and drank beer. One of the last times I met Mike was right about his time of graduation from high school. He was 18 and to me he seemed pretty much like a fully-matured man, which was understandable since I was a goofy kid of 12 or 13 at the time.

Though a teenager, somehow Mike came to own a fairly new red, convertible, Dodge Dart. I think it may have been a graduation present. Our family came by to visit and Mike gave my sisters and me a ride around the neighborhood in his shiny automobile. I recall that it was a warm day and the Dart’s top was down. Yeah, there I was, riding around in the car driven by my bigshot 2^nd cousin Mike. I was hoping some pretty female classmate of mine might happen to see me in the company of this Herculean figure. No such luck, of course.

The next time I saw Mike three decades had passed. On that occasion my uncle -Mike’s grandfather- had recently died. I could not get to the funeral but I was able to make it to the cemetery for the graveside service. I arrived a little early and the only people there were one of my sisters and a few strangers. My sister informed me that Mike was due to show up at any time. A flood of nervous anticipation swept over me. My eyes focused on the distant entranceway of the cemetery. What would Mike be driving, a Mercedes, a $200,000 Lamborghini? And what of Mike himself? I pictured this handsome, debonair, 6’2” man in a $3,000 pinstripe suit tailor-cut to his muscular body. Since it was a solemn occasion, I figured Mike would likely not have a luscious woman on his arm.

A few minutes before the service was set to begin a car pulled to a halt along the gravel drive that passed near the gravesite. I knew it wasn’t Mike since it was the automobile was a 10 year-old Mercury. Out stepped this short, balding man with a paunch under his belt buckle. My sister, who was standing alongside me, leaned over and whispered that Mike had arrived. I glanced around in confusion. The only person I saw was the rotund gentleman who had just pulled up in the old car.

“Where?” I muttered to my sister in a low, discreet voice.

“That fat guy,” she mumbled, tossing her head in the direction of the man.

My eyes focused on the person in question. Oh my god, it's really him! I was horrorstruck, simply horrorstruck.

By the end of the service I had somehow managed to regain my composure. I wandered over to Mike and introduced myself. With a smile, I told him that I remembered being driven around in his Dodge Dart, and up to that point it was one of the coolest moments in my life.

Without a hint of a smile, Mike just stared at me as though I were crazy. He murmured something about how that was a long time ago, and we were all a lot older now. He then turned and trekked back to his car.

I watched Mike drive down the slender driveway that led to the cemetery gate. I did not know quite what to think. I suppose my overriding sentiment was sadness. First to fall was the Easter Bunny, then Santa Claus, lastly my 2^nd cousin Mike. At least Mrs. Henle was spared of any disappointment. But then, to her he was not a superhuman boyhood legend, as he was to me. 

I guess it is partially my fault. A few too many accolades from others, and a little too much imagination from myself. Sorry about that Mike.