Skip to main content

Family Stories

In this episode - Family Stories . . .

When you travel, you will frequently meet new people, and the conversation may lead to the question, "Where are you from?”

“Cuba,” - then I wait for their expected response.

“Havana?” They ask.

“Nope, Havana is about 19 miles from Cuba on the Illinois River.”

“Cuba, Illinois.” Hah, ha!

People furrow their brows, squint their eyes, then smile as they finally get the joke. This always elicits a chuckle and sets a friendly, humorous tone for the conversation.

What reminded me of this, you ask?

When handed the microphone, this was my running joke at the annual Ball Family Reunion on Saturday, August 12, 2023, hosted by my aunt Deanna Ball in Fairview, Illinois. I’ll admit this was probably the first reunion I’ve attended in about 50 years. Followers of my blog may know that my father's side of the family had nine children: Lawrence and Helen Ball's kids, who lived in rural Canton, Illinois. As each sibling married, they had, on average, four children. Do the math: husband, wife, four kids, times nine! When we get together, we are quite a crowd.

Many of my father's siblings have since passed away. However, their children, some of whom I had never met (see photo), have started their own families with many children and grandchildren. According to Deanna, as of this writing, there are now 190 direct descendants from Lawerence and Helen Ball.

Not surprisingly, many attendees had known me since I was a baby. My mother and I immigrated to the United States in 1959. I was excited to hear their stories; they are a valuable part of the recesses of my memory. As I write my memoirs, I realize how much was left unsaid or forgotten from those early days.

I recognized many familiar faces as we approached the park's tree-shaded pavilion. We exchanged warm hugs and kisses, and as I looked each person in the eye, clasping their hands - unexpectedly, tears welled up in my eyes. It was a glorious feeling of warmth and family.

Allow me to share a story when I met Charles's first wife (Dad’s oldest brother), who traveled from Wisconsin to the reunion.

Barbara - “I remember the day when you first arrived at Grandma's house with your Mom.”

“Charles drove with Grandpa to pick you up from Midway Airport in Chicago. There were no Interstates back then, and the trip was long. Charles had spent time in France, and he could speak some French. Everyone feared no one could communicate with your mother.

We all waited for you at the house, and when you finally arrived, it was dark and very late. You were so cute, the curly-haired French boy that did not speak English; everyone smothered you and your mother with hugs.”

Patrick - “How long did we stay at Grandma’s house, do you know?”

“Doc returned about four weeks after you.”

There was tons of food and dessert at the potluck family gathering, but fortunately, no Jello salad. Who remembers orange Jello with suspended carrot shreds?

Deanna had organized a trivia game about our Grandparents’ families. I was clueless until everyone shared their stories. However, when the microphone was passed, they were asked to speak in front of the group - complete silence!

Anyway, attending family reunions and upholding traditions is a delightful experience. If you have a Facebook page, encourage everyone to post and identify people in their photos - I’m terrible at remembering names.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. See you in the next episode. 

Comments

I was at Casey’s in Cuba and think I saw you ride a bike and realized it was you …. The 8th a Tuesday around 11 am .
Patrick B. Ball said…
During our visit, I biked over 28 miles. 🚴‍♀️🌳🌞 This trip was all about the Family reunion.

Most Popular of All Time

Confidently Wrong: The Art of the AI Tall Tale

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a  hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

Opening Day Magic 2026 . . .

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

The Cowardice of Corporate Jargon

Picture this: an email lands in your inbox. A colleague—maybe even a friend—needs a favor, a second set of eyes, a moment of your time. You sigh, stare at the glow of your monitor, and type: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” Hit send. Problem solved. Conscience clear. Except it shouldn’t be. Most of us have said or sent that line at least once, hoping it would land gently. On the surface, it’s perfect—efficient, polite, even self-aware. And that’s exactly the problem. It lets you decline without ever quite telling the truth. You didn’t just say no; you softened the discomfort of being human until it barely felt like a feeling at all. Instead of admitting, I’m overwhelmed , or I don’t have the energy , you reach for the sterile vocabulary of a server room. You turn a feeling into a metric. A boundary into a system limitation. Apologies, my data transfer rate is capped. Please submit a ticket to my emotional help desk. It’s a clever little trick—and an un...

Overcooking the Grid

In this episode, terrified of smart toasters, yet demanding infinite electricity for potato personality tests. Pull up that chair again, and let’s hope your coffee is safe this time. In our last chat, we talked about our well-meaning but occasionally delusional AI friend, Chef Adamas, and his penchant for hallucinating blueberries into your Carbonara. We learned how to manage his quirks by keeping our “digital pantry” organized. But today, we need to look past the chef and take a hard look at the sheer size of the kitchen we are building for him. And folks, that kitchen has gotten completely out of hand. Down in Louisiana, tech companies are currently building an artificial intelligence data center the size of 70 football fields. It is a four-million-square-foot digital brain that requires so much electricity they are building three new natural gas power plants just to keep the servers from literally melting down into a puddle of expensive silicon. And what are we using this god-like, ...