I love telling stories. Some real and some not so
real. Everyone in my household has been bitten by this same bug. Somebody is
always telling a story around here. We just like making stuff up. Here’s an
example.
Adam
and I were having lunch the other day, and I’d ordered a cup of hot tea,
because I had a cold and my sinuses were bothering me. I was fuzzy headed and
not very coordinated, and every time I opened a sugar packet, more sugar got on
the table than in my cup. I said, “Wait a minute. I know I can do this,” to no
one in particular, and exasperated, Adam picked an empty packet off the table
and began using it to sweep the loose granules off the table. Breathing a heavy
sigh of annoyance he said “This isn’t the eighties Mom! You just can’t snort
cocaine out in public for everyone to see!” The family in the booth across the
way sneaked a look in our direction. I laughed. In that split second, Adam had told
a story. A somewhat sad story of a dysfunctional
family with a leftover, stoner hippie mom and her beleaguered son, but hey, a story.
Then
there’s the time Christian called and told me he’d totaled the car, after he’d
just had an accident. No worries, he said,
he and the other two drivers were fine. What?! Just kidding, Mom.
And
the time I pretended to call the police department—“Hello? Um, I live at ______
and have an unruly child here who doesn’t listen and says he wants another Mommy.
Um hmm … yes … I think he could have a bag packed within the hour …” while Thomas
starred at me, panic stricken. (My brother, who was actually on the other line
said “Crystal! You’re pretending to call the cops on Thomas? Don’t do that!
That’s some crazy stuff Mommy would have done!”) Yes, and where do you think I got it?
And
Thomas is no innocent in all this. The “pretender” gene has definitely been
passed on to this one; he’ll step into character in a minute, and he’s played
more tricks on me than I can remember.
One
the whole, I enjoy my family’s creativity and their flair for the dramatic. It
keeps things interesting. I like to think that we’re descended from African griots, keeping up the
traditions of our ancestors in completely new and unexpected ways.
Great article!!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Hank!
ReplyDelete