I reckon most family reunions are this melodic weekend of
people singing Kumbaya around a camp fire, friendly games of four-square, and
strolling down Memory Lane sharing fond memories of the yonder years.
I said most. Not
mine.
There was somewhat of a resemblance though. Instead, we sang
Leonard Cohen and G-Love from the acoustic stylings of my cousin. Scrabble was
our game of choice, and it wasn’t very friendly…we’re a competitive bunch. And
our stroll down Memory Lane was more like a tromp down Painful Path,
reminiscing on boiling water incidents, 50 foot makeshift tree swings, and all
the bumps and bruises that coincide with a family of mostly boys. Everything went exactly like a Brooks’ family
reunion should go; razzing, taunting, and teasing…all in good fun I suppose.
It’s a whole different experience attending a family reunion
as an adult. You get the true inside scoop of being a Brooks’ and all of the
sudden you’re not sure if you’re more proud or more ashamed to be a part of the
family. Either way, I wouldn't trade it for the world. I loved watching my Pop
play with his brothers just as if they were teenagers (Roman candle wars
included). They cut each other down and build you right back up in the same
conversation. The diversity in my family
was pleasantly surprising, but what it all boils down to is that we’re a
family. The late night political/ethical debates are long forgotten before the
next morning’s cup of coffee. Because in the mountains, lifestyle doesn't
matter. Individual point of views were put aside and we all enjoyed the company
of being together.
Bear dove head first into being a full time uncle and Pop
was head honcho with his new role as Poppa. We took hikes, hunted for golf
balls in the river, went fly fishing, made candy apples, and ate some of the
best ribs my pop’s ever made.
Hillary came up to the Mountain House the last few days, and
as expected, made a better Brooks than I did. We left the mountains behind for the
concrete jungle of the big ATL. Atlanta is a surprisingly green city; trees and
parks on every corner. Andrea came up
for three days; it was like one big pre-teen slumber party. There is nothing
better than being reunited with your life-long best friends when you all live
2,000 miles apart. Our heart strings are strong and long, and proven to last a
lifetime. Ah, tears of missing those two
are starting to fall…muststopwriting.
Family reunions on all accounts were a huge success, but
nothing beats walking down the airport terminal, seeing my Momma waiting there
for her Bird and me.
The Wyoming Welcoming committee was wide-eyed and waiting
for the arrival of their Bird. Grandma and Grandpa have requested that we never
leave again, and Brent was more anxious than anyone for us to come home. Missed that hubby of mine.
