Trains, Goodbyes and New Beginnings.

At first, it was the trains that got my attention.

I was a young boy growing up in Youngstown, Ohio. Every summer, my dad and grandfather would take me to the train station to gather relatives from New York City who would come to spend a few weeks with us.

Waiting on the platform of the B&O  was always an exercise in anticipation. I  looked forward to seeing the family, but those trains were a source of wonderous fascination to my young eyes and ears. It was usually late in the day when they came. Before coming into view, they weren’t heard as much as felt, a mighty rumbling in the ground. Then the tremor became a vibration. Then the windows and doors in the station began to quiver. The first thing visible, coming around a bend in the tracks, was the huge, near-blinding spotlight of the engine behind which a hulking shadow lurked and lunged. By the time the light entered the station, the tremor had turned into a quake, and it seemed as if the air itself was alive and vibrating. The wooden platform rumbled and shook down to its foundations while the engine passed by belching steam and smoke with impressive mechanical precision and power bringing with it the pungent aromas of diesel fuel and hot oil. The train glided to a halt right in front of us.

However, the light and sound show of the arrival was no match for what came after. The passenger coaches pulled by the train were gleaming on the outside and brightly lit on the inside. They were magical cocoons in which, to my young mind, near-mythical people rode from exotic-sounding places like Astoria, The Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx, Manhattan. The ground shook when the train arrived, but the earth quaked when our loved ones debarked from the railroad cars. This was the arrival, the landing of our family from New York, among them my cousins, from the big city. They were the epitome of cool from the way they dressed to the way they combed their hair to the way they spoke and the music they listened to. I was enchanted, smitten and eager to be like them, keen to be a New Yorker with all the trappings of the big city. Yet, for all their coolness, they managed to carry a sense of family and love that was a lesson in the making for my heart that was ready and willing to imitate them and all they stood for.

Our time together each summer was grand. We spent it walking around our neighborhood in Youngstown, playing baseball on the street in front of our house, hanging out on our front porch or patio, making short trips to the McGuffey Plaza about a half mile away where we could bowl, play pool and get ice cream at the lunch counter in Woolworth's. For all the fun there were also infrequent times of tension and disagreement. But even those were learning opportunities as they taught me how the love of family ultimately trumps any differences we may encounter.

Eventually and far too soon, Dad, Grandpa and I would take the family back to the station. This time the anticipation of the train’s arrival was replaced with dread. The goodbyes were always tearful. I vividly remember watching those I admired so much climb aboard those railroad cars and desperately wishing I could go with them, go to the big city, see what they saw and…ride on that fantastic train.

I never knew if those folks, every one of them from the eldest to the youngest, were aware of the impact they had on me. They all touched my heart and showed me something about family that was precious and beautiful.

Somewhere along the line, the trips to the station came to an end. We fell out of touch, and I somehow managed to forget all the lessons I learned from them. How does that happen? Once lost, can it ever be regained?

Yes!

Last week, nearly fifty-five years later, the magic returned. My cousin Libby and I had touched base via Facebook. She began making arrangements for a family reunion in NYC. As Kelly and I drove into the city, I could feel the tremor in the ground. It took me a few moments to realize it was my heart that was shaking this time. I was nervous, excited and filled with a vague apprehension that it could never be the same again.

We were delighted to discover that it can! Oh, there was a lot of fun and touristy

things to do. And, yes, they were impressive and fascinating. We went sight-seeing, ate some incredible food reacquainted ourselves with each other, met some new friends and had three absolutely magnificent days together. While the activities and food were fun, what was most precious were the times we spent sitting around the kitchen table reminiscing and seemingly picking up right where we left off.  Kelly was made to feel warmly welcomed, and she had the opportunity to meet and love the best of the Kuvakas family.

Some of the folks that arrived in Youngstown on those trains are no longer with us. It was sad and melancholy to hear their stories and of their passing. They're gone, yet something has been preserved.  They passed on a profound grip on what it means to be a family. 

It's an old-world perspective and worthy of holding dear. Despite the loss of loved ones, when we came together, it was as if fifty-five years were merely a heartbeat and little time had passed at all -- because we are family. 

The whole affair was an incredible blessing and a reminder that true love doesn't fade with time. So, Mike, Libby, Spiro, Elaine, Kathy and all the rest of the family, “Thanks for making the earth shake -- again -- for a little guy from Ohio!”