Julie's family gets together at least three or four times per year.

This might not seem like much to the average reader, but a family gathering with Julie's family is something akin to having your entire family, and one third of your town (no matter the size) gathered into a 3-story, 5-bedroom house. (Read: "Hey, will you pass this tortilla chip along to Uncle Kenny over there and see if he'll dip it in the 'chili con queso' dip for me? Oh...yeah, I can move my elbow. Sorry.")

I am told that this branch of the family actually broke off from a larger group (imagine everyone you know, plus your entire high school, and TWO-thirds of your town (no matter the size.))

About ten years ago, we packed a large portion of our branch of the group, (merely everyone you know, plus one quarter of your town (no matter the size,)) and traveled to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.

Why, you ask? There are two reasons:

1) There was a different branch of the family (imagine a subdivision of your town's suburbs (no matter the size)) that hadn't seen Julie's family in 50 or so years, and wanted to say "hi."

(You see, they don't have phone service in Couer d'Alene, Idaho yet, and sending a Western Union telegram (even a simple telegram like, "Hi Stop") to as many people as your entire family, plus one third of your town (no matter the size) is very spendy.

2) The branch of the family that I moved into mostly doesn't have a reputation in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho (yet.)

(There is a notable exception to this last statement, and it bears explaining. Long ago, Julie and I attended a church in another North Idaho town. The pastor of that church had recently relocated to (of all places) Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Coincidentally, we bumped into said pastor and his wife at the Creation Festival West two weeks prior to this family gathering. We said we would be in the neighborhood on the weekend of the reunion, and might stop by. Three days before the reunion, this pastor suddenly told his parishioners that he was going to be on vacation during the dates we would be in town.

Additionally, and coincidentally, our shirttail kinfolk attend that church, and it had been chosen as the "rainout alternate location" for our gathering. (note: We western Washingtonians learned the term "Shirttail Kinfolk" from the North Carolina and Kentucky shirttail kinfolk we met in North Idaho.)

You see, we actually do have a reputation as a family back in Western Washington.

It all dates back to a Thanksgiving dinner a few years earlier in an unsuspecting church which was attended by a few unsuspecting family members.

This was prior to the recent spate of marriages and assorted babies being born, so Julie's extended family was merely about 80-strong at the time.

One of Julie's 40 or so male cousins (we'll call him "Ed" for the sake of anonymity) and I were engaged in hand-to-hand combat in a large hallway separating the "fellowship hall" from the sanctuary. (Read: "You guys quit horsing around near the food! You're liable to hurt someone! Go in the hall where all the glass picture frames are!")

Further explanation is necessary: You see, there's a lot of testosterone in the bloodlines, this is a group of first-generation athletes, street racers, horse riders and bungee-jumping skydiving triple latte-drinkers.

The only reason for this is because the older generation was not allowed to drink triple lattes while skydiving with a bungee cord. (Bungee-skydive-latte technology has improved vastly in the last few decades, but not in time for Julie's uncles and aunts, (save for one "early adopter."))

So anyway, I'm wrestling with Julie's cousin (whom we have decided will be called "Ed" to protect his anonymity.)

Now you may ask yourself, "Self, why would Paul, a father of five, married and secure in his job as a delivery driver, be wrestling with a then-15-year-old adrenaline junkie?"

To put it concisely, I am 6'4" and built like a lineman. (Read: Lineman...as in, the guy who says "If you have tickets for the 7:30 showing of 'Beauty and the Beast' please proceed to the doorway marked 'Theatre 42.' ")

Ask any 6'4" guy who weighs more than 150 lbs. what happens when he's around teen-aged relatives and he'll say "they jump on me."
(Conversely, if you ask any 6'4" guy who weighs LESS THAN 150 lbs. what happens when he gets around teen-aged relatives, hell say, "they ask me to get the ball off the roof.")

OK, back to the story. This lad (whom we are calling "Ed" to protect his anonymity) is ...well ...on my back, and I'm spinning around in circles in a vain attempt to ...well ... get him OFF my back.

You see, I've watched my share of action films (during a time I backslid) and I read comic books (uh ... same era) so I've got a pretty good idea how to get this schmoe (ie: "Ed") off my back.

Whilst I was spinning, I was scheming, you see, and so, mid-spin, amidst the cheering of several of Julie's first cousins-once-removed, and the clatter of silverware and dropped salad tongs, I hurled us backwards, launching all of our combined 450+ lbs. into a wall.

"Ed" (as we are calling him) emitted a muffled, albeit very satisfying grunt, and immediately loosened his grip.

All would have been well if the satisfying grunt had been the end of it. Unfortunately, it was merely the beginning.

You see, the grunt was accompanied by a very loud, and hideous CRAAACKing sound.

I was suddenly faced with several concerns.

1) Despite several generations of Julie's family rough-housing, to my knowledge, nobody had ever been hospitalized.

2) In all my years of rough-housing, to my knowledge, just one person had ever been hospitalized ...well a few stitches, anyway (sorry, Matt D.)

3) The last thing I really needed was 40 or so of Julie's bungee-jumping, skydiving triple latte drinking (did I mention professional prize-fighting?) male cousins really, really ticked off at me.

A quick glance at the shocked expressions on the faces of Julie's assorted aunts, uncles and cousins (as well as my own children) let me know I had just committed the boo-boo the end all boo-boos. I had booed the boo. I had Popped the Tart. I had Fired the Stone. I had, indeed, Oxy-ed the Moron.

As I pulled forward from the Boo-to-end-all-Boos, "Ed" (as we are calling him) felt ...well ... unusual. Sort of ... well ... crumbly.

I knew I was toast.

It was at this point that my poor, crumbly victim spoke.

"Dude," he said. "I think we broke something."

I was at once relieved to hear him sound something like his regular self, and not like a whimpering, crumbly half-man, half wall-hanging.

It was about this point that I tried another half-step forward, and "Ed" (as we are calling him to protect his anonymity) made another Craaacking sound.

This was followed by collective gasps from several of our
spectators.

It turns out that I hadn't actually broken "Ed" but had instead, actually broken the church wall.

We were shocked to find that "Ed" and I had left a large, "Ed's Backside" shaped hole in the wall, and consequently, "Ed" had a wall-sized deposit of sheet rock and plaster all over his Thanksgiving slacks.

OK, now I need to back up a little bit and confess to a slight exaggeration. You see, earlier I wrote that I saw the shocked expressions on the faces of dozens of assorted family members. In truth, probably four or five people were witnesses and knew about this.

Essentially, few enough (and young enough) that a couple of bucks' worth of candy bars would have covered up the mishap. Well, at least the candy bars would have filled tattling mouths.

Now, as to the matter of the PHYSICAL HOLE in the wall of the church, where many-a-family wedding had occurred, which Julie's family members have attended since the ascension, and will likely attend until the second coming...

The gaping plaster maw begged for my attention. And that is when the Ananias in me kicked in. (For who Ananias is, see Acts 5:1-4)

"Hey," a voice said. "Check out that laminated Missions poster over there...just move it about three feet to the right and a foot down, and nobody'll know the difference."

I considered it for a moment.

Then another voice told me what we needed to do.
"Hey, you need to get this fixed, this is your responsibility."

It was at this point that I remembered what happened to Ananias. (Read Acts 5:5)

The wall was fixed, primarily because of the quick action of Julie's father and two of her uncles (including "Ed's" father.) (A special thank-you goes out to these three wonderful men who bailed "Ed" and me out and still permit us to attend family gatherings.)

So, years later, while we were in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, "Ed" (as we have chosen to call him to protect his anonymity) mentioned that he had recently been to that "hole-in-the-wall" church.

To the casual observer (ie. any standard-issue Coeur d'Alenian) it would seem like he was talking about a small prayer group that meets in a strip mall, or a start-up church.

And it's probably for the best. After all, we have a reputation to uphold.


Please check out my novel at: Phoenix Flight: Rise of the Phoenix Flight