the wallish family reunion
Around the 4th of July every two years, we would all make the road trip to Marshalltown, Iowa, where my dad Brian was born.
That summer joy I mentioned a few blogs ago? The Wallish Family Reunion is a central part of those precious memories.
Us kids were raised Vietnamese, so getting immersion in American culture, and specifically midwest American culture, was an exciting experience.
Hello corn fields, water towers, barns, and fireflies… and my favorite - potlucks and hot dishes.
I had never been outside the state of Texas before, and taking a journey on I-35 and farm roads sounded exciting. I’ve never seen a farm. What do people even do for 12 hours in a moving vehicle?
My dad preferred to drive when everyone is asleep, so leaving right after dinner or hours before dawn was the practice. He’s the efficient driver, as few stops as possible. Anytime one of us spoke while he was in his groove? He’d turn the volume dial up.
The music would be Christian, classic rock, and country.
Imagine hearing the Steve Miller Band lyrics, "I really love your peaches, want to shake your tree!" and asking your dad what that means, and he’d just turn up the dial to avoid answering.
A few of us read books, others would play travel board games, Tony as a toddler was in his sticky stage, so stickers and band-aids kept him occupied.
The Wallish siblings raised Catholic by John and Edna Wallish. All 8 of their names start with J - Jim, John, Jeanie, Judy, June, Joe, Jackie, Jeni.
To keep things organized, we all wore colored shirts. That first year, as part of Ron and Jackie’s family, we wore yellow or the blue “Everything’s Bigger in Texas” shirts. As time went on, we wore whatever we wanted.
Some midwest staple foods would be super nachos, fried pork tenderloins, goulash. Last year, my brother Star brought his smoker and made Texas-smoked brisket.
The thing other than family that keeps taking me back to Marshalltown? The iconic Taylor’s Maid-Rites, the 1928 loose-meat burger establishment, washing the “wet” option down with the pineapple malt, something my great uncle Rod had advised me to do and it’s become a personal tradition.
The laughs, the field games, volleyball, croquet, water balloon fights, firewoworks, the sun. We’d spend three days filled with joy and laughter, a sense of endless summer I just didn’t want to end.
Enjoying our own version of a family summer camp. This year, we would all be reunited again for my grandpa Ron’s memorial and grandma Jackie’s living tribute.
When I think of legacy, I think of what these siblings did to keep us united and close. I hope we can continue the tradition.
