Commentary By Rachel Roemhildt Pioch
For The Cordova Times
(Editor’s note: Ken Roemhildt arrived in Cordova in 1964 and his future bride, Aino, the following year. They will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary on Jan. 21.)
No singing at the table!
This was probably the most spoken rule at our house growing up. And I thought this was normal. To be sure, it was a needed rule, or anyone of us, except for Dad, would start singing at any given time.
It wasn’t until later that I understood that most of my friends’ families were not like this. They did not need to have this rule in their homes. Their families did not burst into song at a moment’s notice. When seeing their loved ones off at the airport, their families did not line up and start singing, “So Long, Farewell,” from The Sound of Music. (And yes, we did the motions.) My friends’ mothers did not have raucous laughing fits at the table that would send us children into hysterics. It was at this realization . . . that I truly pitied my friends.
As I contemplated this rule, I wondered about how it came to be. Since our Mother would have been one of the chief rule breakers, she probably was not the one who created it. And neither did us six kids. No, it had to be Dad. And the thought that Dad had to create this rule in order to gain some semblance of order continues to make me smile.
I wondered what he had thought his life would be like when he first moved to Cordova, Alaska. Did he think it would be a quiet and peaceful life, full of fishing, hunting, hiking, and solace? But then, he met our Mother, the tall and pretty, brunette nurse with a lovely singing voice.
They fell in love and married. But even then, I think Dad probably still thought his life would be a quiet and peaceful one where he and his new bride would have only two children. At least that was his plan.
But then more than two children came. And these children were not quiet children. No, these children had piano lessons, played instruments, and sang loudly . . . and often. These children wiped their noses on pretty white curtains. These children hooked themselves with fishing lures and had adventures on GI Joe Island. These children thought it was normal to write, direct, and star in plays. These plays had playbills typed up on an old typewriter and stage lighting provided by red, plastic flashlights. Some of these children even danced around the kitchen, when other siblings were dutifully doing the dishes. These children played “Clewis and Lark” to see how miserable and wet they could get while exploring the river in the pouring down rain. When floodwaters encircled the house in the early 80s, these children had boat races around it. No, these were not quiet children.
And these children had pets. I remember Dad, sitting in his chair, trying to read. All of a sudden one cat chased the other and ran up the left side of Dad, over his head and down the right side. Stoically, Dad continued to read, not to give in to the chaos.
I don’t know when the rule came to be, but at some point it was decided that singing, while an integral part of our lives, was not to commence at the dinner table. This makes sense, as the dinner table is a place where you are supposed to eat dinner and not sing about it. It was probably the only place where singing and dramatics were not present – the only place of peace and some semblance of quiet. And to Dad’s credit, most of us have this same rule in our homes now.
I think the life that Dad may have envisioned is slightly different than the one he has. The last 50 years have never been dull and almost never quiet. There have been lots of surprises, the number of children being one of them, and our crazy antics being some of the others. But it has been full of love. From the love of a Godly woman who filled the home with compassion and laughter, to the love of six children, who cherish the heritage given them.
And it is because of this that I’m pretty sure Dad would say, that this life … is far better than a quiet one.
Congratulations Mom and Dad on your 50th wedding anniversary!
