Let me transport you to a typical dinner at my house…..
It’s a Tuesday night, and my mom is cooking dinner for us all like she does every night. My parents insist that we have dinner together every night, at least as much as we can with our busy schedules. She made hot dogs and burgers, pasta salad, and put out some chips and veggies with dip. We all gather around the table and start telling each other about our days. And THIS is where we differ from normal families.
You see, my youngest sister is a terrible story-teller, and her stories end up being running jokes in our day-to-day family life. So she usually tells a story, and ends up being the only one laughing, and then we all laugh at how ridiculous her story was. On several occasions, we start laughing so hard that either me or Papa Q will spit our milk clear across the table.
My middle sister, Jess, she thinks it’s her job to yell at Sam for causing us to spit out our milk, so then you’ll hear, “Sam!!! Just stop telling stories, okay? No one thinks they’re funny.” We laugh even harder at this.
I get up to get a second hot dog, and Jess continues talking, “…you’re about as funny as B, which is NOT AT ALL.”
Oh, it’s on. I take the hot dog out of its bun, and before my mom can say anything, it’s flying through the air–straight towards Jess’s head. Everyone starts yelling and laughing as it bounces off her head and breaks into four pieces, and the dogs are barking and chasing the hot dog shrapnel through the air.
Jess picks up a handful of hot dog and hurls it across the kitchen at me, and it hits the wall and scatters on the floor. The dogs start enjoying their feast, while I make a run for it. Grape tomatoes and cucumber slices are flying through the air, and I feel like I’m in The Matrix as I dodge them one by one. I turn around, only to trip over a couch pillow and fall, like a character in a horror movie, running from the murderer. I turn and watch in terror as the vegetables bombard me.
I open my eyes a few moments later to the feeling of the dog licking veggie dip off my face, my mom yelling at everyone (except me, I don’t know how I always get away with things) to clean up NOW!!!, and my dad still chuckling under his breath at the story that happened fifteen minutes ago.
You see, we’re different than most families. But if it means that we have fun together, we laugh, and we love, then I’d much rather be different.