In August of 2002, my great uncle,
Father Walter "Uncle Jack" Kaelin, celebrated his sixtieth year
with the Passionist community at St. Agnes Church. When the official
ceremony was complete at the church, the family repaired to the community
room for food and booze. My cousins and I situated ourselves far
away from the congratulatory man scene of the gala event and began
reflecting upon the last celebration of this nature. My cousin Gabe
made the crack, "I wonder if Krista's going to freak the fuck out
again?" and suddenly laughter arose as everyone recalled our eldest
cousin's apoplectic fit of emotional fury ten years prior.
On August 20, 1992, the Kaelin family
was once again at St. Agnes Parish. This time, it was the
celebration of Uncle Jack's fiftieth anniversary with the Passionist
community. The day was gleefully spent indulging in free food and
playing on the volleyball courts or in the parish rumpus room (after all,
my cousins and I were all ten years younger and at more
"carefree" ages). My cousin Krista, however, was setting
the scene to become the first of the hoard of Kaelin cousins to be
wed. The event provided her with ample opportunity to approach Uncle
Jack about marrying her and her fiancée, Steve Foster (since Uncle Jack
was rather difficult to contact during his frequent visits to India and
Tanzania). It was during this auspicious occasion that things went
horribly awry.
The details of what occurred were
sketchy to begin with, and they've only become more opaque with each
passing year. All anyone truly seems to recall is that my cousin
Krista did indeed "freak the fuck out" as my cousin Gabe
stated. As best I recall, an argument arose between her and
Steve. Whether it was over church arrangements, wedding guests or
selecting Uncle Jack as the priest for the event, I doubt anyone can
say. I just remember her hysterical crying and screaming at anyone
who endeavored to console her that day.
That was the end of the story until
last year when I was flipping through my photo albums and discovered this
interesting photo. In the background is Krista, her body language
indicating that she is quite frustrated. My aunt Pat is seen
endeavoring to console her. In the foreground is me, looking quite
distressed as well. Had I gotten in the path of Krista mid-tirade,
or was an afternoon of eating mayonnaise-based buffet foods in the hot,
August sun catching up with me? I can't really say. All I know
is the background conflict only adds to the Zapruder film feel of this
photo and that is was taken just briefly before the triffids in the
foreground began wreaking havoc on the festivities. Many a life was
lost that day, but the family celebrations trudge on.
Update 12-06: After a
hearty, alcohol-laden Thanksgiving discussion among cousins, it seems that
my memory is in error (gee...imagine that). My cousin-in-law
Steve was not the culprit behind Krista's explosion that day. As my
cousin Sonny (Krista's brother) recalls, it was a chauvinistic comment
made on the volleyball court that caused the eruption. He, like I,
was foggy on the specific details. Luckily, Steve came to the rescue
for both our minds with this e-mail which I am pasting into here without
any permission whatsoever that fills in the details.
“…
oh yea the 50th jack party krista was playen vollyball and some
assknob kep telling her that a woman could not play and shit like that kep
jumping in the way of her ...........................
she
turns and says "DAMMIT TO HELL IF YOU DON'T STOP GETTING IN MY
WAY "
and
that when our famliy i think it was paul grab her be for the ass
kickin started !!!!!!!!!
i
think thats what happen ??? …”
I think that clears things up.
Back
