When we were kids in the glorious early nineties (simpler times), my parents decided we weren’t getting enough sleep, so they laid down a new ironclad rule:

Parents: “Lights out at 9:00 PM. No arguments. No excuses. We don’t care if you’re not tired; you’re in bed and silent by nine o’clock.”

At first, we grumbled. We protested. We tried the classic, “But we’re not tired!”

Didn’t matter. 9:00 PM. Boom. Done. 

So, my siblings and I decided, if we had to suffer… so would they. 

We started getting up at 4:30 AM.

Every. Single. Morning.

If they wanted us “well-rested,” fine — we were wide awake and ready to party… before the sun even thought about showing up.

We’d clomp around the house, slamming kitchen cabinets as we “searched for breakfast,” arguing loudly about who got the good cereal, and blasting the TV to watch cartoons at full volume because, technically, we were following all the house rules. 

The first morning, Dad stumbled out of the bedroom in his boxers, bleary-eyed and confused, like a man who had been personally attacked by gravity.

Dad: “What are you doing?!”

Us: “Starting our day!”

Dad: “It’s 4:30!”

Us: “But we’re so… well… rested!”

The second morning, Mom tried to pre-make breakfast the night before… but we decided we wanted “fresh pancakes” and “helped” by unleashing a flour explosion in the kitchen.

By the third morning, they started locking their door. Didn’t help. We had a dog who barked every time we moved, because he thought it was playtime.

After one glorious week of living like caffeinated farmers, my mom finally called a family meeting.

Mom: “New rule. Bedtime is a guideline. Use your judgment. Just… please… don’t wake us up before 7 AM ever again.”

So the story goes, I was born in the middle of a pivotal football game. The nurse came out to my dad in the waiting room and said:

Nurse: “Mr. [Family Name], would you like to see the baby?”

Dad: “One second, they’re going to kick…”

Mom: *Shouting from the other room.* “So you don’t want to meet the twins, then?!”

Expecting only the one baby, my dad runs into the room panicked, ignoring the game finally. When he sees that he’s been pranked.

Dad: “That’s mean! The footy was the only thing stopping me from fainting!”

Mom: “Those blokes are passing footballs with their legs. I just passed something the same size through my legs! And you’re the one at risk of fainting?”

They got over it quickly because of how CUTE I was. When my dad tried to name me after his favorite footballer, my mum had none of it.

Church is finished, and my mom, my sister, and I are waiting for our dad to come and pick us up. My grandma also comes to church, although she drives herself. She’s talking to the priest before saying goodbye to him, and then passing us on the way out.

Priest: “[Mom’s Name], are you still waiting for [Husband]?”

Mom: “Yes, he’s on his way.”

Priest: “Why doesn’t [Grandma] drive you, since she’s here?”

Mom: “Hmm, how do I put this?”

Sister: “Grandma drives like she’s trying to beat Moses to the Red Sea.”

Priest: “That’s… very clearly put, thank you.”

I was going to say ‘Grandma’s driving makes me want to start praying, and I’m not even religious’ but figured that’s not the best thing to say in Church, and my sister was wittier!

I have just graduated. The celebration is nothing huge, just a small backyard thing with some friends and family. I get around $500 total as gifts from people, some cash, a couple of gift cards, super appreciated!

Next day, my aunt (my mom’s sister) calls me:

Aunt: “So… you gonna share some of that money with [Cousin]?”

She’s talking about her twenty-year-old son, who dropped out of college last year and hasn’t really been doing much. I laugh at first, thinking she’s messing around.

Aunt: “Why are you laughing? I’m dead serious.”

Me: “Oh.”

Aunt: “You know he’s been struggling, and you’re lucky to graduate! It’d be nice if you passed some of that along.”

Me: “It’s not luck that made me graduate, it was working my a** off at college while working a night job. So, no, it’s a gift for me.”

Aunt: “Why you gotta be acting all brand new?” *Click.*

She called my mom a little later.

Mom: “No, she’s not being selfish. She got those because she graduated.”

The sounds of my aunt screaming over the phone.

Mom: “Then maybe your kid should graduate first.”

My mom hung up, and we haven’t seen them since.

It’s Memorial Day, and my family is having a BBQ at my grandma’s backyard, as is custom.

Everyone’s having a good time, burgers sizzling, kids playing, dogs barking, and then my aunt says, nice and respectfully:

Aunt: “Let’s just take a second to remember what today’s about.”

This is also a custom, as our grandpa (RIP) served, and we have another relative currently on active deployment. Our heads nod, and a little silence settles over the backyard.

But then there’s my uncle… the middle-aged freeloader who still lives with grandma. Never one to let solemnity go unchallenged, he leans back in his chair, raises his beer can, and says:

Uncle: “F*** that bull-s***! I’m with The President on this one; everyone in the military is a sucker!”

Grandma: *Without missing a beat.* “Son, the only thing you ever served was jury duty… and they asked you to leave. I’m not asking you, though. I’m telling you.”

Uncle Draft Dodger got the hint after we had all stopped to glare at him, and he left to go finish his drinking at the bar.