Family

The thing about being weird is it takes you a long time to find out you’re weird; until someone tells you any different, you just think you’re normal. It wasn’t until I began riding in the car with one of my friends’ parents that I found out that not everyone listens to cowboy songs, and I was in high school before I knew most kids didn’t read about the Civil War for pleasure.

Growing up, these things were normal, just like having a close relationship with extended family seemed normal until my wife began to meet all of them and found herself requiring a flow chart to keep everything straight.

When we were first dating we were driving in the country and rode by my Uncle Tom and Aunt Nancy’s house. On a whim we pulled up the driveway and knocked on the door, which led to us visiting with them for a couple of hours, laughing and carrying on.

It reminded me of the day I told my parents I was moving out and Daddy said, “you’ll always have a home wherever your family is.” Stepping up to Uncle Tom’s porch, I felt as home there as I did in the house I grew up in, because my family was on the other side of the door.

As we left that night I thought of all the times I’d sat in an Uncle’s living room and laughed until I cried; I thought of all the pies I’d eaten at an Aunt’s table and wondered if everyone was as lucky to have those folks in their lives.

I thought of Uncle Harold taking us under his wing when Papa died; he didn’t try to replace Papa, just did his best to look out for his little brother’s grandchildren. I remembered all of the lessons I’ve learned from Daddy’s brothers and the way my Aunts have been surrogate mothers to us.

We still laugh about that night at Uncle Tom’s and sometimes I have to get the flowchart back out, but my wife doesn’t think it’s as abnormal as she used to. Or maybe she’s just weird now too.