At a family gathering celebrating Independence Day, my uncles were tasked with the preparation of the hot dogs, burgers, and sausages. As the meats cooked, my uncles grew increasingly impatient and intoxicated and began attempting to speed up the cooking process.

Their solutions included adding more charcoal, more lighter fluid — while the food was cooking — moving the grill into more direct sunlight, and ultimately attaching a vacuum to the grill in an effort to increase the airflow.

Their efforts produced a lot of smoke that drifted through open windows into my grandparents’ house, where my ill grandmother was spending the party. Naturally, she came to the kitchen window to yell at my uncles and complain about the smoke. My dad found himself enlisted by his brothers to help cook the meats, a role he carried out with a constant bemused look and sarcastic commentary.

After the standard duration meats take to cook on a grill, the food was served. It was sufficiently burned with an adequate taste of lighter fluid. I had a salad that was prepared on the other side of the backyard, far away from the grill.

My family had a reunion back in the days before cars came with GPS and before cell phones were common. My aunt went out as far through the family tree as she could, with instructions to forward the information and invitation to anyone that she may have missed, so we had over a hundred people at the event.

Because not everyone had been to my aunt’s house before, and no one had GPS in their cars, she and her husband put massive signs reading “[Family Name] Family Reunion” with arrows throughout her town, from pretty much as soon as you get off the highway.

My great-uncle is obsessed with the family tree, and tried to sit down with everyone to get as much information as he could from each person, so he could work on completing it. He’d been sitting with one man for nearly twenty minutes, before suddenly bursting out laughing. The man and his son came to the wrong family reunion.

Apparently, they had been on their way to a family reunion for the son’s deceased mother’s side of the family. The last name was phonetically similar to our family’s — although spelled slightly differently — and the man hadn’t been close with his wife’s family, so he didn’t realize that the reason he didn’t recognize anyone was because there was no one there to recognize.

The man was very embarrassed about the mistake, but he and his son were so friendly that we invited them to stay the rest of the day, as well. They couldn’t, since they wanted to keep going to their proper reunion, but we’ve kept in touch with them to this day, and still call them honorary family members.

(My mother, some relatives, and I are having a discussion at a family gathering. My mother, a retired state employee now living out of state, is questioning us about the status in the state legislature of a bill increasing her pension to compensate for the increased cost of living. In jest, she pounds on the table and demands her increase. Next thing we know, another relative, not part of the discussion, puts a drink in front of her.)

Mother: “What’s this?”

Relative: “The coke you were demanding.”

(My mother and I burst out laughing. Our discussion had used the acronym for Cost Of Living Adjustment: COLA!)

(A nephew’s wedding is the occasion for my large and noisy family to trot out several favorite stories. Several of them involve my youngest brother, an adrenalin junkie with poor decision-making skills. At the end of a long and complicated story about him, three dogs, and a skunk, one of my nieces is shaking her head in disbelief.)

Me: “It’s true. You know that little voice that we all have in the back of our brain; the one that tells you not to do dumb stuff like stick a fork in the wall socket?”

Niece: “Are you saying Uncle [Youngest Brother] doesn’t listen to his little voice?”

Me: “I’m saying his little voice was dropped on its head as a child.”

(I hit my neck, which hurts, but it’s not bleeding so I think nothing more of it and continue with my day, which includes a family gathering. I’m asexual, but only my siblings know that. Every time I see my family, at least five people want to discuss my non-existent love life and make suggestions about who I should date. Since all my cousins are getting married and settling down, the whole family has gotten even more involved than before in finding me a boyfriend. When I go downstairs, I see two of my aunts first. They stare at me open-mouthed for a few moments, and then share an amazed glance.)

Me: “Hi [Aunt #1], [Aunt #2]. How are… um… What’s that look for?”

Aunt #1: *grinning broadly* “I think the real question is ‘How are YOU?’ Looks like someone had a good time last night.”

Me: “What?”

Aunt #2: “No need to play coy. It’s winter. You could’ve just worn a turtleneck, and no-one would have seen it.”

Me: “Seen what?”

Aunt #2: “Oh, come on. We know you wanted us to see it. It’s easier than telling everyone you’ve finally found someone, huh?”

Aunt #1: “Oh, this is wonderful! We thought it would never happen!”

Me: “Um… I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aunt #2: *gestures to my neck*

(I go to the bathroom to look at my neck in the mirror. There’s a red mark where the metal rod hit my neck. It looks just like a hickey.)

Me: *blushing furiously* “No! That’s not what this is! I was taking apart the hamper upstairs, and-”

Aunt #1: “It’s all right, honey. We know what it is. But if you aren’t ready to tell the rest of the family, we can find you a scarf or something. Oh! I have some cover-up in my bag.”

Me: “No, but it’s really not a hickey!”

(I explain the whole hamper situation, and my aunts’ huge smiles gradually fade to disappointed looks.)

Aunt #1: *sighs sadly* “Well, you’ll find someone someday, dear.”

Aunt #2: “You know, your biological clock is ticking…”

(I ended up getting yet another talk about how I needed to find a man so I could have babies. Then, I spent the rest of the day red-faced and constantly having to repeat this same conversation with almost every relative I saw. The one good thing about blushing that hard is that it sometimes hides the “hickey.”)