I have a big family. They’re loud. They’re crazy. And they don’t exactly follow normal traditions.
And I couldn’t dream of anything better.
I never understood people who dreaded going to family reunions, who complained about all the practical strangers who “haven’t seen you since you were this tall.”
Or even crazier to me were the people who have three cousins. Total. Both sides. The people who have a big Christmas dinner with their whole extended family sitting around one big table and eating off of matching china. We had 50 people show up for Thanksgiving this year. I’m pretty sure only the Queen of England has enough matching china for that many people.
There’s nothing wrong with having a little family. I’m sure it’s wonderful. But it’s just so opposite of what I grew up with, so it seems strange to me.
I’m used to the chaos. To peeling 25 pounds of potatoes on Thanksgiving. To greeting a new baby cousin practically every year. To giving hugs to everybody in the room. So you tell me about a quiet gathering where everyone was in dressy clothes and call that a family get-together, and that just doesn’t sound like the wonderful craziness I call family.
I always have a story to tell, after I visit my family. Some cute little anecdote. When you cram that many people into one little house, adorableness is bound to occur. (Or arguments between in-laws, but luckily that’s one part of the big crazy family that I missed out on.)
My family isn’t just big, you see. We’re also close. We have gatherings for Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas – like a lot of families – but we also go on a big camping trip every summer. Not everyone stays the whole week, but most people make it up for at least a day or a dinner. We rent out a group camping site and cram it full of boats, tents, probably a dozen campers. We spend the days skiing, tubing, swimming, lounging around a sprinkler. We have big potlucks for every dinner and play with glow sticks almost every night.
I’ve never missed a year. My mom has never missed a year. It’s a family tradition, and I can only hope that it doesn’t end – that my kids will get to experience the same sunburns and bug bites and skinned knees that I did. Because that week, every summer, is one of my favorite parts of the year.
Just a little anecdote, in case you think I’m exaggerating how wonderful this tradition is: when I was seven, my parents took my brother and me on a cruise to Mexico. We absolutely loved it – they had unlimited soft-serve ice cream, for crying out loud! Then, on the way home, my parents asked us if we’d rather go on a cruise or go camping. Without hesitation (according to the story), my brother and I both said camping.
Family just means so much to me, and I can’t imagine being without it. Not having the chaotic get-togethers. Not having the traditions and crafts and food. Not having all those wonderful memories and all those people I know are rooting for me.
So, I guess that’s the takeaway of all this. My family might be big, and they might be just a little bit crazy. But they’re the best thing I could have ever asked for.
Photos: Brian Edmond, Beverly Grote; Brianne Smith