Terry Flanagan: The Extraordinary Value of the Traditional Family Picnic

A few years ago, we decided to revive an old family tradition—the annual summer picnic.

Most of us have fond, and probably inaccurate, memories of how wonderful these family gatherings were. I remember how huge these events seemed to me as a small boy. Irish families are usually large and ours was no exception. We seemed to fill the entire park every year with our family. I can still picture my Dad and my uncles laughing, smoking cigars, drinking beer, and playing softball as I watched from the sideline and wondered if I would ever be able to hit the ball as far as they did.

I had no idea who most of the people there were. Nor did I understand just how I was related to them even though the adults would try to explain the often complex relationships that are part of any extended family. Perhaps I should have paid more attention, since this was the only chance I would ever have to see some family members again. But I was not interested in the family tree or family history and I was easily distracted by unlimited access to all of the candy and pop I wanted. Adult supervision was relatively lax at these picnics.

The family picnics ended before my eighth birthday, around the time my great uncle, who was the family linchpin and the organizer of the picnic, passed away. He owned a small grocery store and he would supply the hot dogs, hamburgers and roast beef for the picnic.

Uncle John was also the guy who kept family arguments from getting out of hand. He knew how to salve egos and smooth things over. Shortly after his death, a rift developed between two of the main family clans. I don’t know what caused the problem. Still don’t know to this day. But it effectively killed off the annual summer picnic and most of the contact between the two sides. The Irish can be a hard-headed and unforgiving lot.

Over the years, we’ve had smaller family picnics now and then with our side of the family. But none of these gatherings have approached the size and spectacle of the ones I remember as a boy when both sides of the family were still speaking to one another. But even these occasional picnic outings fizzled. There just wasn’t enough momentum to get the annual picnic going again.

It wasn’t until my Mom’s funeral that we decided that we needed to start getting together to celebrate and not just to mourn. We pretty much said the same thing after every funeral, but this time the idea actually took root thanks to the efforts of my cousin Leslie and Dorothy.

Rather than leave the job of planning the picnic to any single family member, we now take turns hosting it at the venue of our choice. Usually it’s someone’s house or a homeowners’ association clubhouse where they live. The family is not that big so we don’t need a big place. Dorothy and I hosted it once at a game, which was a lot of fun.

We have the picnic at the same time every year so everyone can plan accordingly. We play outdoor games like volleyball, bean bag toss, and basketball. Everyone brings something to drink and a dish to pass. Usually someone brings some old photographs of family members from past generations and we share stories about them and the times they lived in.

We try to let the kids know about where they came from and what life was like for the people whose names and legacy they bear. It helps give them some perspective and helps them understand themselves a little better. They can see physical resemblances in the pictures and recognize similar emotional and character traits in the stories. And they begin to realize that they are part of a story that began long before they were born and will continue long after they are gone.  

Our picnics are not quite the same as the old family picnics of my youth. We don’t play softball anymore and nobody smokes cigars. But we are still connecting different generations of family, weaving a rich tapestry of the past and present that our children and our children’s children will hopefully carry on.