We’ve all got one. Some may be small enough where they count their pets as immediate kin while others, more or less, rival the Kardashians when it comes to familial size. “Others” in this particular scenario would be my dear family. The wine loving, over reacting, musical souls with an extraordinary talent for getting on one’s nerves. Where everything is a competition. Where one poor sap’s individual loss of a bet could end up taunting them for the rest of eternity while their lone little $5 bill provides a constant reminder of their misjudgment, steadily peering out at them from underneath the magnet on the microwave. Note to self: When Tony Romo has already thrown 3 interceptions, never bet your brother-in-law that he won’t do it two more times in the same game. Ever. (I’m taking my $5 down. It’s been 2 years.)
Needless to say, our family has to be introduced to people in doses. When I was a kid, my dad would purposefully cause my face to turn beet red anytime we were in a public place. While dragging one leg behind him with his right shoulder dropped, sporting an awkwardly bent left arm and what sometimes seemed like drool coming out of his mouth, I was quite convinced he was on a mission to ruin my life. Very zombie-esque. What a bunch of crap when you’re in the 6th grade!! My dad’s name is Mike Jones by the way. This is no joke.
Although good ole Miguel, as we call him, provided that little dose of embarrassment sans alcohol, my grandmother’s stories are the complete opposite.
Meet Nana. My dad’s mother. Mary Lucy Jones. She’s a legend in our family. She’s two months shy of being 99 years old and this broad is a delight!! She had me, my sister (Holly) and my brother (Kyle) measuring three fingers of scotch at the tender age of 9. Oh the amount of wisdom that one has provided through the years! As I sit here on my lunch break enjoying this 106 degree Texas heat, swimming pools spring to mind. And since we’re one day shy of the weekend, alcohol seems to consume the old noggin as well. Put those two together and we have the classic story of Nana trying to jump off the diving board in the middle of a very well-to-do house party back in the 60’s.
To start – Nana can’t swim. She was born in 1913 in Kilgore, Texas. Young girls in her town during that time period never learned how to swim because the boys her age would completely consume the one and only pond in their birthday suits. Frustrated by the fact that the girls’ daddies refused to let them join the water festivities, Nana and her friends would steal the boys’ clothes and run up the nearest tree with the best view! They would then get a fantastic kick out of watching them run around God’s green earth lookin’ for their britches! Well played, granny. Well played.
Now… fast forward 50 years. Start with a fancy pants cocktail party, a little too much scotch and a swimming pool. Throw in a jealous Mary Lucy Jones and see if that doesn’t ruffle up some feathers. After realizing that her husband, Ellie, is busy mingling with beings other than herself at this spectacular social gathering, my loving attention-starved grandmother decides to take matters into her own hands. As she steadily walks out to the edge of the diving board and threatens in front of God and everyone to her dear, sweet, patient husband that she’s about to jump in the pool, a young gentleman calls out, “Ellie, you son of a b*tch! You better get your wife down before she jumps in that pool!” His response? “Oh, she can’t swim and she’s not gonna jump! Lucy, get down off that diving board!” About 7 seconds later the party resumes, Mary Lucy quietly steps down, thrilled that her goal has just been achieved. ❤
Just thought I’d share where the “crazy gene” originally started in this family so you’re fully aware that this, too, must have been passed down to the rest of us.
Here she is, smack dab in the middle with her eyes closed. God love her!
Breast wishes –