The Palisadian-Post presents an homage to Will Rogers’ column, “Will Rogers Says,” with a column by Palisadian Jimmy Dunne—on life in the “greatest town in America.”
Tribes
There are certain things each species does that are its defining traits.
Its “calling card.”
Take elephants. Walking in a group behind each other. Holding on to each other’s tails.
Or a female praying mantis. After a little hanky panky, eating her partners. Probably wouldn’t kill ’em to brush up on some dating etiquette.
Or lovely geese or pelicans. Making that big “V” in the sky. A trick that tuckered-out bicyclists try to copy-cat.
Then there’s us homo sapiens. Let’s even widen the net to sapiens (going back seven million years). That’s a long time ago.
We’ve always traveled in a “tribe.” As a family. With our best pals, too. All for one, one for all.
Our M.O. in the savannas in Africa. In the hot jungles of South America. And even true with those poor sapiens freezing their rumps off in Siberia.
And seven million years later, my parents’ generation was all aboard with an absolute ton of happy-camper Dunnes in the Chicago suburbs.
Tribes.
Powerful, important, meat-on-the-bones stuff that makes us us.
………….
And then something happened.
Along came planes, trains and automobiles. Affordable—and super-duper fast.
Then, the motherload of them all … computers.
Add one more tasty ingredient to the soup for those 18-year-olds.
Dreams.
Unlike generations before, they didn’t have to do what their dad did for a living.
Whether Dad worked on a farm, in a factory or in an office … As Shakespeare said with a dapper accent, “The world’s mine oyster, which I with sword will open.”
And rich or poor, grades could be a kid’s golden ticket to a seat on a plane and into a snappy college.
Throw all that in the soup and what do you get?
Job offers all over the country. And off kids went.
And, I forgot to mention, a few years before, while they were cheering on their football teams in that college town—many of ’em fell in love.
Packed up their bags and kissed their hometown goodbye for that, too.
Left the tribe.
“Bye-bye. Call me. Text me. FaceTime is nice, too.”
………….
Here’s what I just don’t get.
My math says this generation is the first in 233,333 generations not to live with their “tribe.”
The news can’t stop spitting out enough posts and stories about whether or not Taylor Swift is breaking up with Travis Kelce—but not a peep out there about this anthropological earthquake.
How is this not talked about more?
………….
Let’s take a peek in the window at my tribe.
In the Chicago suburbs, there are more Dunnes than maple trees.
Every sacrament, every birthday, every holiday, every vacation, every everything I ever went to—was with Dunne cousins, aunts, uncles and Dunne priests.
Regarding travel, my four grandparents never stepped on a plane in their lives. My guess? Probably never traveled more than 300 miles away.
I have six brothers and sisters, with 21 collective kids. Of those 21, one lives in our hometown today. The rest are scattered through Pennsylvania, Maine, Michigan, New York, Florida, California, Iowa, Arizona, Oregon and London.
………….
So, in the big picture, what’s the fix?
They’re moving away. Can you visit them? Can they visit us? Sure.
And, the reality is, the wealthier folks are, the easier that is. The easier to fly more often, to have second homes—all that stuff.
Is it the same as having ’em in the same town? Where you can help ’em out at a moment’s notice or have ’em over for a sleepover at Grammie and Grampie’s just for fun?
Nope, can’t do that.
But lucky us that we can do something we couldn’t do 100 years ago.
Here’s the twist to the story.
………….
Friends in town, Richard and Randi, just dangling their toes in their 70s, have two great kids who moved to the East Coast for their budding careers.
A daughter with two grandkids in Philadelphia—and a son in New York with another grandkid.
Our pals woke up one morning in California, looked at each other over their coffee and said, “We need to move to them.”
They imagined the rest of their lives—and realized they needed their children and grandchildren to be in it.
Period.
They called their Realtor and put their house on the market. They’re giving up everything.
They’re leaving all their great buddies, their clubs, their synagogue and relationship with their rabbi, their hiking pals, their Equinox membership, their neighbors, Richard’s office relationships, Randi’s art studio, Richard’s bike-riding buddies—their everything.
“It was really important to us to give our kids wings,” Richard said. “We’re so happy for them.”
“Now we have to use our wings, too,” Randi said.
“We want to grow up together with our grandkids—and for them to know we were there,” Richard said.
They’re moving to Philadelphia. Right in town with their daughter and two grandkids, and 90 minutes away from their son’s family.
They don’t know a single person in Philly. They don’t care.
They know they’ll figure it out. They’ll make friends.
It’ll be fun. It’ll be an adventure. Life is an adventure.
………….
Because they know they’re going to have something else.
Something so precious. So rare. So beautiful.
They’re going to have that thing where love was born.
Family.
Jimmy Dunne is a modern-day Renaissance Man; a hit songwriter (28 million hit records), screenwriter/producer of hit television series, award-winning author, an entrepreneur—and a Palisadian “Citizen of the Year.” You can reach him at j@jimmydunne.com or jimmydunne.substack.com.
