(I am about 13 in this story. My family and I are at a family reunion. My grandparents, who recently moved to Oregon, will also be there. I went to a cybersecurity week camp a month ago.)

Step-Grandma: “So, what did you do this summer, [My Name]?”

Me: “Mostly stayed at home, but I did go to a cybersecurity week camp a month ago.”

Step-Grandma: “What did you do at the camp?”

Me: “We coded a site, went to the aquarium, and learned about cyber-principles, some basics of hacking, and how to do it legally.”

Step-Grandma: “Good! Now you can hack the Russians back!”

Me: “…”

(I’m the youngest in my generation of the family, and everyone else of my age group has gotten married. I have a small line of relationships that didn’t work out, for one reason or another. At this point, I’m single again after a two-year relationship.)

Aunt: “You know, [Cousin]’s wife is pregnant already. When are you going to have a kid?”

Me: “Uh… I’m single and still smarting from that, so, no thanks. I also kind of need a boyfriend for that, anyway.”

Aunt: “Oh, honey, you don’t need a boyfriend. Just find a random guy and…”

(I give her a look of pure appalled disgust.)

Me: “…I’m not going to do that.”

Aunt: “Honestly, honey, you’re going to be left behind. Everyone else has settled down to have a family. You’re the only one who hasn’t.”

Me: “You KNOW why I haven’t.”

(I’ve been very responsible about this decision, and have taken proper precautions, as I haven’t wanted to bring a new human being into the mix of college, college debt, and job hunting.)

Aunt: “So when ARE you going to be an adult and start a family?”

Me: *fed up* “When I d*** well want to!”

(I have no idea why she thinks that having a baby is the only thing that will make me an ‘adult.’)

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 mother’s side of the family is having our first big reunion in years. In many East Asian cultures, you don’t call older relatives by name; there are specific titles for specific relationships.)

Cousin: *talking about mum’s older brother* “Because I’m half white and all American, I didn’t realise Tua Ku’s name wasn’t Tua Ku until I was, like, eighteen…”

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.