Visiting my family is a relative experience (standard:Inspirational stories, 906 words)
Author: Godspenman	Added: Nov 07 2011	Views/Reads: 3182/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I was reminded recently that the only thing growing in my family tree are fruits and nuts. Personally, I am not sure if I am a fruit or a nut. Just do not ask my wife.

I was reminded recently that the only thing growing in my family tree
are fruits and nuts. Personally, I am not sure if I am a fruit or a 
nut. Just do not ask my wife. 

I had been away for so long I had forgotten many things about my family.
My recent visit served as a refresher course reminding me why I had 
moved away in the first place. Memory sometimes pays little tricks 
causing us to remember the "good old days" and forgetting that 
sprinkled in among the good are ample portions of what I call 
good-challenged moments and characters. 

I cannot speak about anybody else's family; my family seems to run the
gamut between good and bad. I certainly have some wonderful relatives 
but then, I also have those who are on the other side of that 
description. Overall, they serve to make my family what it is today. 

I enjoyed visiting with some of my relatives I had not seen for years.
In fact, I could not remember the last time I had seen some of them. 
For the most part, it was a wonderful time of family reunion. 

I had really forgotten about good old Aunt Bessie. She has always been
one of my favorite aunts. Nobody knows how old she really is, and she 
ain't telling. Conferring with some of my older relatives none could 
remember a time when good old Aunt Bessie was not around. Some of us 
have guessed her age and we figure she is probably our oldest living 
relative. 

One of the oddities about good old Aunt Bessie has to do with her
physical appearance. As far as anybody could remember, she was always 
consumed with her looks. Not just her clothing but her face as well. 
The one thing that was anathema to her was a wrinkle. She has what we 
all said behind her back, a wrinkle-phobia. If I had the money she 
spent on wrinkle creams I could retire and live a life of luxury. 

I do remember a time (and I had forgotten it until now and I just hoped
she did) when I was not Aunt Bessie's favorite nephew. It was years ago 
and I had not seen her for a while and when I did see her, I said, half 
jokingly, "Is that a new wrinkle, Aunt Bessie?" 

You would have thought I had shot her only child. She shrieked and then
went to the bathroom to examine her face. She was so irate with me that 
she did not speak to me for over a year. Of course, looking back, there 
was no downside to that. I was tempted to remind her of that incident, 
but I remembered the old hymn, "Yield not to temptation, for yielding 
is sin." 

Then there was Uncle Harold. I had not seen him for I cannot remember
how long. When I saw him, I noticed he had not changed. I think he was 
wearing the same suspenders he wore the last time I saw him. His 
suspenders were a fashion statement, according to him, but nobody knew 
exactly what they were saying. 

The great thing about Uncle Howard was his stories. He had a repertoire
of stories that he repeated ad nauseam. Behind his back we often said, 
"Uncle Howard will tell no stories he hasn't told a thousand times 
before." Probably the most amusing thing about his stories was the fact 
that he often confused the punchline of one-story with the punchline of 
another story. None of his punchlines ever went with the story. That 
made them even funnier. We laughed, he thought we were laughing at his 
story, we were really laughing at him. 

Just before I was ready to leave, who should come in but dear old Aunt
Sylvia. As soon as I saw her, I smiled. Not only was I glad to see her, 
but I remembered her. If anybody was the cat's meow, it was Aunt 
Sylvia. 

She loved to go out to eat, particularly with a group. I thought of the
last time we all went out to eat together and Aunt Sylvia was with us. 
One of her peculiarities was along the line of tipping the waitress. 
She was the self-appointed guru of making sure the waitress got a good 
tip. When everybody finished eating and the bill had come, Aunt Sylvia 
would take charge. 

She would collect money from each person for the tip. If you did not
give enough, she made you dig into your pocket again until you came up 
with an amount she was happy with to give to the waitress. With 
appropriate pomp and circumstance, she would call the waitress over to 
our table and present her with the tip of the evening. 

As I was flying home, a thought tugged at my mind; if the world is made
up of such people like my relatives, what chance does the world really 
have? 

The world, as God has designed it, is made up of all kinds of people
that He loves with an everlasting love. "For God so loved the world, 
that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him 
should not perish, but have everlasting life" (John 3:16 KJV). 

Thinking of my family on the plane coming home I thought, why am I the
only sane person in my family? Then another thought emerged. Or, am I? 


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