State of the cousins — and the union

We gathered in Phoenix recently to pay respects to a favorite uncle (and great-uncle), who had passed at age 91. A retired steel fabricator and one of six children born in rural Tennessee, he served as a paratrooper in both World War II and Korea and later was a duplicate bridge master.

As in the case of most far-flung families, we get together usually only for weddings and funerals. Now there are more of the latter, and more nieces and nephews and their offspring attending than siblings or cousins close to my age of 62.

As we neared the end of what would be a nine-hour drive that day, I thought a lot about my children, nieces and nephews -- or, as my sisters, brother, me and our spouses refer to them collectively, the cousins.

Although we would beg to differ, most would look at our offspring as pretty average. As a group, they have had both successes and failures: marriages and divorces, drug or alcohol issues, solid careers or still trying to find their way. Some are still trying to sort out their childhoods after their parents divorced or, later in their lives, died.

They are the typical, almost predictable, children of the baby boomers. And now, seemingly as if out of nowhere, many of their lives are upside-down.

The cousins number an even dozen, ranging in age from the early 20s to the early 40s, and are scattered in Arizona, California, Nevada, Utah and Florida. Take a closer look at those five states. Four are among the worst hit during what for some is a recession and for others a depression.

For the cousins and their families, as I suspect it is for most of this country, this isn't about politics or philosophy, who is right or who is to blame.

But the state of the cousins and their families is the state of the union.

The college-degreed spouses of two step-sisters are recently unemployed. One, a CPA with a master's degree in taxation, saw his high-tech employer devoured by another, bigger player. The other, a utility power trader, took a buyout in advance of a promised layoff. His wife's job disappeared last year when the company she represented closed its showroom at the World Market Center.

Another cousin's husband drives each weekend from El Paso, Texas, to Tucson, Arizona, to see her, their daughter and 4-month-old son. Soon, the job moves to Midland, Texas. The cousin's younger brother chases part-time construction work in Southern California.

Still another cousin works in northern Florida until he can find something closer to his wife and their three children in Los Angeles. For now, mom and the kids gather around the family table for regular dinners with dad -- via laptop cameras and Skype. The high-tech computer application also allows him to help two teenage daughters with homework.

Meanwhile, also in Southern California, a cousin who has taught elementary school since 2003 nervously awaits school district cuts that so far have claimed all teachers hired after that year. If there is a next round of layoffs, she, too, will be jobless and without much prospect of work.

Back in Arizona, another cousin and her insurance-agent husband spend weekends emptying, cleaning and making minor repairs on foreclosed houses because his business took a dive in this tattered economy. A teenage daughter also helps out.

And a cousin's husband there works two shifts a week at two different hospitals as an emergency room nurse to keep a full-time paycheck.

Certainly, things could be worse, and are for many people. So far, the cousins have seen more stress than real distress and, at least for a couple of them, there are job interviews scheduled this week.

In both cases, however, the prospective jobs require moves to other states and forced separations from their families until schools get out this summer.

And until they can sell their houses.

Charlie Waters is director of editorial support services for Stephens Media.