Family Gathering (a true story)

"Observe an event and write succinctly about it," our journalism professor told us. So I did, and this is the result.

My family hated it—or, more accurately, were hurt by it. I can't say I blame them, because even though it's based on real events and conversations, the manner in which I chose to report them was unfair. My selection of only the oddest or most mundane actions and comments by family members made them appear two-dimensional and vapid—which they most assuredly are not. But at the time, my arrogant, ignorant 19-year-old self thought it was funny, and if my family didn't agree…tough!

My journalism professor, who, at 27 years of age was also arrogant and ignorant, liked my story—a lot. He liked it so much, he read it aloud to the class as an example of fine journalism. He even saved it and read it aloud to his subsequent classes over the next several terms. Much to my chagrin, accounts of his public readings found their way to my mom, who at the time worked in the college's education department. She was not happy with the notoriety.

My professor also shared my story with the editor of the college newspaper, who, in his youthful arrogance and ignorance, thereupon proclaimed me "the best writer here" and nominated me to become the paper's next managing editor (a post I would assume in the first term of my junior year—the term before I would arrogantly and ignorantly quit school to play drums in a rock 'n roll band).

The fact that my family hated this story makes me uncomfortable including it here, but I'm going to anyway because it's a revealing snapshot of who and where I was at age 19. Which is a place I am more than happy never to return to again.

The only other place this story has been published was in my book Stories, Songs, Poems, a Play, and Some Other Stuff Nobody Else Would Publish, which was illustrated by my friend Matt Wuerker. Matt did the drawing that accompanies this story.

Family Gathering 

Part One: Five Minutes

The dog takes off from Grandpa's lap. He abandons the scratching fingers to check out a noise in the back of the house. Pots and pans rattle in the kitchen.

Grandma is wearing a pink dress in celebration of her birthday. She is sitting in our widest chair because she is so wide. She is a Jehovah's Witness. She is a wide Jehovah's Witness. She is talking about a show that she listens to on KKEY radio.

"Shut that door out there," Dad yells to Brother. He gets up to close it himself.

"I want you to see our new piece of furniture," Mom yells to Grandma. She tries to turn on the stereo, which is what she means by the new piece of furniture. We've had it for eight months and she doesn't know how to work it.

Sister is wearing one of my shirts. She is sitting in the green armchair with her legs crossed.

Dad says, "Rick I think that problem with your clutch is in the adjustment."

I say, "No, you tightened it all the way six months ago. There is no more adjustment."

Grandma blows her nose. She is carrying on a conversation with the window: "Who in the dickens would want to kiss a guy with a beard?"

"Not me," Brother says.

"Not me," Dad mimics.

"What are you writing?" Sister asks.

Part Two: Five More Minutes

Grandma tells us about stove bolts they had in cars 50 years ago. She is interesting. I don't understand what she is saying sometimes, but she is interesting. She is old and funny. She tells us about a dog that was poisoned by a lady who lived across the street in 1941. "The Witch" she calls her. "The Niggers" she calls black people. Her dog used to chase Niggers, until he was poisoned. The Witch poisoned her dog. He was a beautiful dog.

Grandpa is in the kitchen. Sister is in the bathroom. Chopin is on the stereo. Grandma continues.

"And they're going to get a new screen," she says to the window. She watches the rain.

"Will you come and cut the ham?" Mom says to Dad. We are having ham for Grandma's birthday dinner. It is a pre-sliced ham. Dad wonders what Mom means by "cut the ham," so he gets up to investigate.

Sister comes in. I look at her blue-striped Adidas. "It's raining…it's halfway snowing," she says.

"It' s kinda half rain and half snow," Dad says.

Brother moves his foot.

Grandma and Grandpa are looking at a fuzzy black-and-white-striped pillow on the floor.

"What kind of fur is it?" Grandma says.

"What kind of fur is it?" Grandpa says.

"I think it's just imitation fur," Dad says. The pillow is made of rayon. It has become matted from people who sit on it and watch TV. People like Brother, Dad accuses.

I sneeze.

"As soon as the marshmallows are melted, we can eat," Mom says.

Grandma reaches for her "walker" and slowly helps herself out of the big chair. She moves into the dining room. We follow and the walls close in around dinner.