I have very many cousins. Now, since the days of the internet are here, I have found out that I have many very distant cousins in places including Italy, Argentina and even Hungary and Turkey. I assume we’re at least distantly related because we have the same last name. Believe it or not, even with our distinctive name, some have even expressed quite a bit of astonishment that I take it for granted that we’re related.
By now I’ve gotten to know most of my cousins in this country. There’s at least one exception though. I haven’t seen my cousin P.J., Uncle Jimmy’s son, ever since we were kids. Uncle Jimmy was my mother’s younger brother. I know I met P.J. at least twice then, once when my family visited his and once at Aunt Lauren’s wedding. I’m practically positive he lives somewhere in New Jersey. I should like to dedicate an annual holiday to P.J. and to all the cousin P.J.’s of the world. As far as I know, each of us most probably has at least a P.J. or two in his life, especially if he includes all the people he knows of only tangentially at school, in his workplace or wherever else he may be. Unfortunately I may never again get a chance to meet you, P.J., but I can at least doff my hat to you once each year.