Growing up, my dad's side of the family was small. There were twelve of us total, and compared with my mother's side of the family which boasted at least forty-five, our family get-togethers seemed tiny. But, what we lacked in size was made up for in decibel. My grandmother loudly reading the menu to my grandfather, my aunt bellowing at misbehaving children and my father shouting, "That's enough!" towards my sis and I as we slyly kicked each other's shins under the table. And then there were the enormous laughs. In my prepubescent awkwardness, I found the din of our crew to be oh-so-embarrassing.
Now that I'm grown, I love that noise. Noise that has switched from parental guidance prompts to even more sweet, sweet laughter. When we're together, usually at my parent's bitty ranch-style home, we rattle the rafters with our giggles...laughing at each other, at inside jokes and at my mom and aunt's strange affinity for boxed wine. Some nights we sit out around a small bonfire, harassing the neighborhood with our howling laughter til all hours...or at least until we run out of S'mores ingredients.
Last night was no exception. When I asked my father and grandfather to snap a photo with me in honor of Father's Day, I got more than I bargained for: they were both more than happy to show off their AARP-inspired footwear. Sitting out on the front step, we couldn't control the giggles! Well, at least I know from whom I inherited my size 10 feet...but the fashion sense? Oh my. I hope that's not hereditary.