Coming home again

By Julie Carter

I am the favorite daughter and the favorite sister. My brothers will have to agree with both statements because I am the only girl in our family of four children.

I am also the eldest of the pack of mountain children, which sounds better than hillbillies, but really, that's what we were.

This weekend we will all be under the same roof for the first time in a dozen years.

I'm not sure how that happens; how a family once so close can get so scattered and caught up in life that we forget to come home, but it has.

My mother is ecstatic about the gathering; as well she should and would be.

As all mothers will do, she will feed us well, give us sage advice and tell us stories from the old days we've probably heard multiple times.

And best of all, she will scold us like she did when we were all under the age of 12. There is something comforting about that.

The teasing and the bantering will be non-stop. The grandchildren will hear tales about their parents that will amaze and delight them. They are old enough now to have an adult concept of their parents as children.

They also begin to understand why their parents are smart enough to know what they are up to; that parents really aren't clairvoyant, just experienced.

We will once again prove that tattling to your parents is not something that stops with adulthood.

People who are now getting AARP propaganda in the mail will still find delight in reminding their mother just how bad their brother or sister was as a teen.

"Mom did you ever know that Julie was really not at her friend's house like she said she was? You knew about that party, right?"

"Mom, did Lonnie ever tell you about the time .... ?" This conversation could take half the weekend.

"Mom, you do know that Bruce wasn't really sick because of your fried chicken, right? Fried chicken doesn't give you a hangover."

"Mom, we know Jim is your favorite but only because he's the baby. He's not really any better than we are. He just got away with it more often."

Sibling relationships slide right into adulthood without much adjustment.

I'm still the bossy older sister with little tolerance for their nonsense and have lost none of my ability to tell them so. They have lost none of their ability to ignore me.

The three "boys" will size each other up for what life has dealt them in the way of careers, wives and children.

After that short assessment is over, they'll all hit the cookie jar looking for mom's specialty-chocolate chip cookies.

The visit probably won't be long enough, but maybe it will fuel the desire to do it again before a decade passes by.

We aren't special or unique. Nor are we any less or any more dysfunctional than most families.

What we are is family. And for that, we do know we are blessed. Even if we don't always show it.

©2007 Julie Carter