I would never have finished this work (nor in fact ever have tried to pull it all together as a unified book) were it not for the resolute assistance of a few terribly patient people, some of whom (it should in all fairness be noted) were not so terrible in their patience as others.
My parents, Lorna and Dewey, re-re-(re-)read numerous drafts of various parts of this book for decades, and were unstinting in their support and keen in their feedback; naturally, they are the primary people from whom I originally heard the family histories that fueled my miscreancy.
This book would be a whole lot shorter were it not for my brother Jeff and his childhood instigation and participation; he also sent me a list of memory joggers early on that gave rise to some of these retells. In a meaningful sense, this book is one big acknowledgment of him.
Camrin (my adult son) has been exposed to these sorts of family stories ever since he was little-little (which is as it should be), and an essential part of the value of this work is that he continues to enjoy them even into adulthood. I value his influence all the more because I hold his writing, drawing, and other artistic endeavors in such high regard.
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When I published the first edition of this work, Mariya and Keagan were still fairly early on in the process of learning who I was, just as I was learning about them, which entailed my learning more about myself. Camrin and I had our evolving stories about our family, and each other, and I was looking forward to what our family’s new tales would become. In that sense, it felt only fair to let everyone know what we were all getting into.
Katharine and Nathan, my nieph and nephew, are lovers of books, each in their own personal way, and they are crucial to this project because I know that about them. Clearly they live busy, curious lives to provide all sorts of fascinating material against a time when Tammy and Jeff produce their own family chronicle. Then again, this sort of writing often falls to the next generation (and in some sense always does).
My cousin Leslie read this all the way through and was nice enough to tell me (at a time when I was worried that I had flourished it into globnoxiousness) that while it might indeed be rarefied air, at least smart people would like it. (So if you don’t like it, then, well... just sayin’.)
There is someone who has always been gracious about my stories, but who might not want to be mentioned here by name. I have learned that some tales only become tellable with distance (often but not exclusively in the form of time), and some never get told, regardless, because you just had to be there.
A lot of my friends have read various parts of this book over the decades (and a few saw it closer to publication as a whole). Their long international nightmare is over, as I will finally quit pestering them for feedback. They’ve also made treasured contributions in being honest about how hopeless I am at writing fiction with people in it. You will be spared all of that rubbish due to the dogged diligence of brave people like: Dave, Judi, Mark, Nicole, Doug, Bertram, Carl, Greg, Jeremy, Jana, Florin, Zeno, Kate, and Evan (who also generously saved you from my poetry... every reader of this book owes him a big favor).
And now we come to Randy, upon whom settles the most recent blame for this work being finished. One day he said, “You should write a book” (the bastard), to which I replied, “AaaaAAAWWW, I already wrote one,” in the vainly whiny hope of never having to produce another. Then, a few days later, he said that he would read my blog if I had one (ditto), but I knew that there was no way that I could make myself keep something like that updated, so here we are: my second and last book... written to avoid a blog.
Finally, this book could not have been written were it not for the steadfast commitment of thrillseeking children everywhere, and the equally dedicated heroism of such innocent bystanders (and occasional accomplices) as their family members, friends, and neighbors, including the kind of parent that some of these children grow up to be.