It's tough being the oldest nephew. When S. Ross and Blanch brought forth their first-born, he had the disadvantage of being the oldest South grandchild and the first of Blanch's siblings' "next generation".

It's tough being the oldest nephew. All of my aunts and uncles cut their parenting teeth on me. I was, at once, a South family curiosity, a social experiment, a source of wonderment, a genetic familiarty, a challenging interest, a nefarious mescreant, a laudable compaint, maneuverer, and a virtual perpetual-motion kid. Each of my aunts and uncles took an occasional turn at babysitting me. Early on, while changing my underdrawers, each would pat me tenderly on the bottom: a loving gesture. However, as time marched on, those pats became not so gentle and quite other than loving. Looking back at it now, I call it the "burning buns" period of my life. It was if I had six Southparents. It's tough being the oldest nephew.

Gradually, Southcousins began to arrive on the scene and the focus of my surrogate parents changed. The relief was wonderful, but it was short-lived. I was expeceted to be an example for all of the cousins. It's tough being the oldest nephew. I was called in to service on a regular basis as a babysitter and I vividly remember the appearance on the scene of Dion and Rich, John and Frank, George and Frant, and Washburn and Taylor. All of the older Southcousins became an integral part of my life during my fledgling years. When I finally arrived at the point in time when I was dispatched from the Center Stakes of Zion to proselytize the Mohawks and Seanaces, I lost direct contact with the folks who had been so much a part of my maturation process, and I didn't know the younger cousins very well.

During all the days of youth, Grandmother South lived just across the street from us. I established a special relationship with her because of her delightful accessibility. She not only represented an opportunity for meanginful intellectual exchange but, very importantly, a haven of refuge whenever Mother Fox was being overly perfectionistic. To say that this happened frequently is the understatement of the century. Grandma South was bright, unflappable, and compassionate, and I spent many a long pleasant hour exchanging ideas with her. Of course, there were other reasons why I enjoyed crossing the street. She made homemade bread and I remember the three-cornered aluminum pans in which she cooked it on the stove top and the pleasant scent that can only come from bread. She would dump a loaf out of the pan and let me "have at it." Someone should have patented the receipe. As far as I was concerned, it was the food of the gods. While munching a hot slice of bread, I would follow Grandma South around the house, talking with her. She never seemed to tire of having me around, which is somewhat of a surprise, because, in an average day I would ask at least 37,000 questions. Each was answered straightforwardly and non-judgementally. To this day I miss that lady. Much of whom I am today is the product of my relationship with Grandmother South. I don't know of any grandchld that was closer to her than I, and I very much appreciate the 25% of my genetics that she provided for me. The positive effect she had on my intellect is immeasurable.

In my early years, Aunt VaLois lived at home with Grandma South and I got to know her very well. I had many life-discussions with Aunt VaLois. The thing that so impressed me about her (and still does) was the acuity of her sense of humor. She was, and is, an incorrigible tease and much of what I know about "that fine art" was derived from my intellectual interchanges with her. One thing is for sure: it was difficult to get in the last word. I remember once that it happened. VaLois was going down the steps of the porch and was out of earshot when I got that last word in.

From Aunt VaLois I learned that if one takes oneself too seriously, much of life passes one by. Humor is the spice of life, it adds the kind of sparkle that causes survival to be pleasant. To this day her great sense of humor is a source of pleasure to me. When Aunt VaLois and Uncle Paul were married and produced their first progeny, Wasburn Paul, I was pressed into service as a babysitter. It's tough being the oldest nephew. I remember babysitting for Wash and Taylor on many occasions. I must have engendered some level of trust in Aunt VaLois to have her leave the fledgling Chipmans under my surveillance.

Aunt Utahna Uncle Taylor lived over on Wentworth Avenue. Their home is still there, but they were far enough away that I didn't pop in to see them very often. While I was yet very young, they moved to Susanville. For that reason I didn't get to know Uncle Taylor and Aunt Utahna, nor Kent, very well. I do remember, however, that Uncle Taylor had a delightful sense of humor.

When Uncle William was called to missionary activity in Czechoslovakia, I vividly recall his missionary farewell and I remember that Mom Fox had us save pennies, nickels, and dimes. Each week we would put part of what we earned into the missionary box andit was sent to him. After he returned, the practice persisted, so Richard and I saved coins and sent them to other missionaries, usually from our ward. When Uncle William arrived back from Czechoslovakia, he sent for Aunt Jane and brought her to the family home. On the day of her arrival, I remember visiting her in the apartment at the rear of Grandma South's home. Aunt Jane spoke some English, but her knowledge of it was limited. She and I had a good time exploring the English language together. She seemed to think that I was non-threatening, patient, and non-judgemental in helping her to learn the launguage. It's tough being the oldest nephew. She and I spent hours talking about a variety of things, but mostly I remember helping her unpack the crates of cut glassware and magnificent Czechoslovakian crystal pieces and other objets d'art. Everyday was like Christmas for me as I helped her unwrap those fascinating objects. And from that time forward, for several years, Aunt Jane would reminisce with me about her childhood home. What resulted was that I developed a special feeling in my heart for her native country. She portrayed it as a land of proud, creative people, conscientious workers, and world class artisans.

Recently, when Kathy and I had the opportunity to visit the land of her roots, and the city of Aunt Jane's birth, I wept. The once proud land had been under Communist rule for 70 years. There was decaying infrastructure and universal deferred maintenance of what had been very nice homes and public buildings, and I realized that the people of Aunt Jane's beloved country had been so suppressed that they could not maintain the culture that she had known. I sense that it pained her greatly to see the deterioration of a once great culture in which she had her roots.

Uncle William was sort of a surrogate father for me. Because of his positions in the church, Mom Fox gave his opinion more-than-average credibility. Uncle William was significantly involved in providing me with the understanding of the importance of compliance with the tenets of the philosophy in which we were all raised.

Uncle William once took me to the asbestos mine in Montana, and I remember that as being an "apex experience." The mine wasn't too impressive, but the environs were. I remember Uncle William telling me how dumb the sage hens were and how good they tasted. Then, he demonstrated that concept by walking up to one and thumping it on the head with a stick, dressing it out and taking back to the ine and cooking it. He was right; it was tasty. The cabin at the mine was very primitive and, of course, I enjoyed that a lot. On other occasions, I spent time with Uncle William discussing engineering and I believe that much of my interest in the basic sciences and things mechanical were derived from him. It was his philosophy that anything that had been designed by a human being, should it malfunction, could be fixed by a human being. That concept has helped me in my sojourn through life.

As I reflect back, Aunt Jane was the first foreign-born person with whom I had close ties. She and I bonded nicely, and I believe from her I learned to have a cultural point of view. That is to say, I came to understand that people of different cultures have as much a right to live and think and enjoy their culture as does anyone else; that there was no such thing as one cultural philosophy being better than another. It may be that my interest in getting to know her and learning about her country and her culture may have softened the shock of moving to this country a trifle. I do know that she and I became very close. I was only five or six years old at that time.

My relationship with Aunt Ruth was a special one, because she was the one who taught me to play the violin. It's tough being the oldest nephew. Mom Fox made arrangements for me to take lessons from her and I would walk to the Soderborg home (which was set back in the apple orchard) on a weekly basis to take my violin lessons. Aunt Ruth reminded me an awfully lot of Grandmother South in terms of her unflappability, her intellect, her compassion, and her approach to life. The violin lessons were much more than just a musical experience. They were a life lesson in learning how to learn, how to problem solve, and how to make a committment to a project. Aunt Ruth also unwittingly provided me with an opportunity to understand that the perfection that was expected of me at home was somewhat unrealistic. She allowed me to make mistakes without feeling second rate. As a matter of fact, she helped me to understand that mistakes are an important part of the learning process, and, that to not make mistakes was to not expand one's knowledge. She was an exceedingly patient lady and I learned a lot about interpersonal relations from her.

Aunt Ruth was, to my way of thinking, a very fine musician. As Richard and I began to play instruments in public, Aunt Ruth would arrange the pieces. I knew enough about music at that time to recognize her talent in that area. To this day, some of my favorite musical pieces are those arranged by Aunt Ruth. The special appeal that those pieces have is the result of creativity and applied talents.

When I finally became competent enough on the violin to begin to appear publicly, Aunt Ruth suggested that I take violin lessons from Melba Lindsay Burton, which I did. But there is no doubt that Aunt Ruth was the springboard from whence my musical talent and appreciation arose. While I was taking lessons from her, I had the opportunity to see George and Grant growing up. They became part of my life as I visited their household once a week. I was never invited to babysit them because there were enough Soderborgs in the neighborhood that there was never a shortage of babysitters.

Uncle Taylor I didn't know very well, but Uncle Ed is another matter. When I think of my relationship with him, I smile. I enjoyed spending time with him, though sometimes Mom Fox was uneasy with that. She saw him as being somewhat of a nefarious miscreant and wasn't sure that I should be learning the things he was teaching me. Uncle Ed had a zest for life and a capacity that was different from any of his siblings. I knew most of his friends, and it was my impression at that time that the group of them really enjoyed life. In thinking about my relationship with him, I realize that he provided me with what would nowadays be called "reality therapy." He had somewhat of a dramatic approach to living and had the ability to get a lot of mileage out of every waking moment. For example, he was the one who taught me how to swerve a car from side to side on the way home to get the last ounce of gas out of an otherwise empty tank so that he could make it to the driveway. When I was just eight or nine years old, he taught me how to drive. Grandmother South (or someone) had an old Model T Ford and Uncle Ed would let me sit on his lap and drive it. Needless to say, that cemented the relationship wonderfully. Uncle Ed seemed to know everything about that which I didn't know anything about. Now it is true that I understood the physiology of human sexuality. I knew where babies came from, but Uncle Ed was kind enough to fill me in on some of the knowledge that no one can ever get from the kinds of books that Mom Fox provided her children. That's why it's called reality therapy. Mom Fox had another name for it. It's tough being the oldest nephew.

I remember when Uncle Ed first introduced me to Aunt Marge. She was the prettiest lady I had ever seen, and I wondered on many occasions how such a malfeasant as Uncle Ed could connect with such a gorgeous femme. It gave me hope! As Dion and Rich came along I babysat for them, so they were the other cousins that I knew when they were yet tiny.

I spent many hours exchanging ideas with Uncle Ed and some with Aunt Marge. Uncle Ed provided me with a look at life that I never had before. The single most important life lesson he taught me was that people can be wonderful, caring, thoughful, and contribute significantly to society, without being dyed-in-the-wool, cast in bronze, unyeildingly compliant to what one's culture defines as "normal behavior." Uncle Ed had, and still has, a sense of humor that is like Aunt VaLois'. I always look forward to visiting with him because of his ability to add sparkle to the lives of those around him.

Uncle Ed and Aunt Marge are very special to Kathy and me. When we decided to get married, I told Kathy that I had a favorite Aunt and Uncle in Elko that might be interestd in being part of our marriage ceremony. I called Uncle Ed and Aunt Marge and they said, "yes," they would enjoy being part of our wedding. So, when we got to Elko, Uncle Ed and Aunt Marge met us at the airport and took us to a local Justice of the Peace where we were married. We then went with them and Burke to a wedding "breakfast" (which was at 6:00pm), so they saw us through the marriage process.

So, it's tough being the oldest nephew. But nobody said life was going to be easy. Being a SouthFox has been a source of pride to me, although, of course, I had nothing to do with it. I suppose you would call it a genetic luck-of-the-draw. But being genetically lucky is infinitely better than the alternatives.