happy cousin p.j. day

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.






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