I have something like thirty-four cousins. (Don’t ask me to name them all.) My memories of them are varied and numerous: the loud, swirling Christmas parties at my Uncle Vinny’s; road trips to visit far-flung family in Chicago, Texas and Colorado; and one massive family reunion that probably took more planning than a space shuttle launch.
Growing up I thought an extended family could hardly be any larger. My own kids have eleven cousins. Not a bad tally these days.
We have nothing on the old Japanese emperors.
