I am grateful today for family stories. I am grateful we can sit around a table and laugh for hours upon end at the same stories we heard last time we were all together, and a hundred times before that. I am grateful that we are all such good story tellers and love to share our embarrassing moments with each other. I am grateful for the craziness, the laughter, the joy, and the tall tales my family has been telling over the years.
Whether it be the time my mom lit her sweater on fire by reaching over the candle one Thanksgiving, the time I hid in a clothing rack in a store and freaked my mom out, the time my great grandmother pulled off some guy's ear while in a car accident, the time a bear got in the back of my uncle's truck, how my great grandmother changed her name when she was four years old, who later called her husband Bill even though his real name was Owen, how my grandmother was told by her grandmother to move a pile of rocks if ever she said was she was bored (and how my grandma threatened the same to me and my sister), how my uncles had their own file cabinets in the hospital, about the naked man with red shoes that haunted the orange groves near my mother's house, the time I slid through gravel and my mom had to pull the rocks out of my hand, or when I fell face first onto the mall floor and chipped my two front teeth, or even that time I put a bead up my noise and I never found it.
I love my family's stories, they prove we are really crazy and talk way too much.
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