The Gathering of the Clan

 I see all these jokes on Facebook about enduring family gatherings, and I honestly don't get those jokes. When I was a little girl up until after Isabella was born, Thanksgiving and Christmas always meant a trek across the state to Bluejacket.  Holidays meant that all of  Dad's family would gather at my grandparents' house or at one of Grandpa's sibling's homes.

There was no dread of unpleasant relatives, no one to avoid.  It was the simply the gathering of the Wilson clan . . . and we were a clan.  There might be 15 to 25 of us on any given holiday.  It was a time of reconnecting, of good food that never saw the inside of a can or box, it was the children's table.  Before dinner it was playing on hay bales and being ran out of the kitchen.  Some years it was the big sled being pulled by the tractor.  On warm years after dinner, it was shooting skeet or just bottles and cans, all the while showing off new guns, cherishing old ones, and teaching the children the art of being a good shot.  Often there was a lot going on during those holiday weekends.  Wood was cut for Grandpa.  We picked pecans.  We butchered a hog or a steer and maybe a deer.  Movies and popcorn and shelling nuts made up our evenings.  The very first year Jack came, he got sucked into butchering day . . . I remember my family being proud that he just jumped right in as part of them.  My mom said he was more Wilson than some of the Wilsons.

The best and most important part was the stories.  As we sat around the big table, we didn't have small talk or discuss politics.  Instead the adults told the stories of their youth, of war and depression, of high jinks and escapades.  Grandpa would tell of pranks he pulled with Uncle Bob.  Grandma might tell of the time she looked out a window and saw a handsome man on the street so she whistled at that man who became Grandpa.   Perhaps there is the story of the time Uncle Ben shot Dad with the BB gun or the time Dad dumped ice water on a sunbathing Aunt Margaret.   We learned the lore of the family, of what and who we came from.

 We became a clan.  If you do a kindness for one of us, we are all grateful.  If you wrong one of us, you will contend with all of us. We became a clan that loves each other no matter what, even if we don't always agree on politics.  We became a clan that counted every cousin family, no matter how distant.

My dad's parents are all that is left of that older generation.  The distant cousins are all moved away and we have outgrown my grandparents home.  I think they must be in awe that though they only had two sons, they now have 8 grown grandchildren and three great grands.  We simply ooze out of the house now, so the gatherings have relocated to Mama's house.  My Grandparents come down,  my sibs are all there.  My child fights with her cousins.  But the stories are still told and we are still family, still part of the clan.