Every three year’s my paternal grandmother’s family and all their progeny get together for a whomping big family reunion. It’s a four-day extravaganza held in different parts of the country each time, complete with puzzles, antiquing, a talent show and more. Hell, we’ve even got a family song—and we sing it in round. That’s how cool we are.
I missed it this year though, and so missed beautiful West Virginia (Mountain momma!). I was working, as I am now, in Ann Arbor, MI. We had a tornado here the night my parents arrived in the Blue Ridge Mountains. (I hope you sense no bitterness there.) I’d have liked to see my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my grandma and her sisters catching up together. Luckily, a small contingent of them stopped by on their way back to West Michigan.
But second best was witnessing the annual convention of the organization in whose employ I find myself. It had a definite family reunion feel, with a little more moonshine and a lot more committee work. The organization is a unique one, with a history to match; it’s volunteer-run, fairly well endowed, and enamored of Robert and his Rules. It has all the quirky personalities and canonized memories of a large extended family. Granted, I was a recognized outsider, so it was more like sitting in on some other family’s reunion.
I like this family though, quite a bit. And now it’s tasked me and a comrade with helping 18 teenagers form a family of their own in six short weeks. Ai! We’ll make it. And if we’re successful, they might be having reunions of their own some day.