 It's a Yam Sham |
Our great aunt Nan Andree poops in her pants during mass. My mom rushes to help clean her up, but the smell lingers. This is the great aunt who believes her father is the prime minister of a country that has no prime minister and that the C.I.A. is after her. "I just tooted," my sister whispers during the priest's homily. "Not that it matters." We giggle. We are sinful, sinful girls.
My grandmother meets my cousin's surly long-haired boyfriend and asks loudly, "Who is that girl with Danielle?" The boyfriend turns even surlier after that.
I cover my ear and stretch the phone cord into the corner so I can hear Campbell on the phone in the bustling kitchen. "I miss you!" I practically shout. "I want you to be here! Fuck!" He is in Connecticut. He tells me that architecture school is consuming but that it is not the combination of "exhaustion and exhilaration" that he had expected. Family and friends gather in the chapel for mass and my aunt asks Dad to lead the group in the closing hymn. Before the song, Dad mystically channels Rush Limbaugh and announces, "Let's pray for the soul of a man who would go to court to protect a pregnant chad but not an unborn child." Silence from the wealthy New Orleans Democrats. Giggles of shock from his children. I sit behind my brother, and I watch his shoulders shake.
Like all families, whether they want to admit it or not, our family is crazy. We are crazy and weird and wonderful and I love us. I love how my sister claps her hand over my mouth to keep me from laughing out loud during mass and I love the way my dad makes political speeches during mass and I love how my mom goes around saying, "The Gore-inch stole Florida!" and laughing like that's the best joke ever. I love how my grandmother insults people by mistaking their gender and how my great aunt waddles merrily despite her bowel dysfunction and I love how we talk about sex at the dinner table despite the tender ears of nearby children.
For all of our craziness and love, today I am thankful.
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© Copyright 2000 words diminish |
It is a sham, but it's a sham with yams. It's a yam sham.
Willow |
