Is your family weird too?

Okay, let's be real...everybody's family is weird in some way. The question should be How weird is your family? With this holiday time of togetherness I can't help but notice that my family is slightly bent. Okay, they're twisted as a corkscrew.

Does your family have any special quirks that seem to get handed down through the generations? I blogged about that Friday, mostly because I knew my mom would be shopping and would be too busy to know I was talking about her online. Again. But because Mom is threatening to take back all the new clothes she bought me, I decided to share the goods on Dad. Hey, I'm an equal opportunity parent teaser!

Dad's high school band marched in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade back in the 1960s when he played the trumpet. They also played the Rose Bowl parade and several others. They were really Good! Go Litton Marching 100! Anyway, every year when I was a kid we'd turn on the Macy's parade and play it in the background while we cooked. Or, more accurately, watched Mom cook. And every year, without fail, my dad would say, "Did I ever tell you that I marched in that parade?" And then (even when we'd say, yes you tell us every year) he'd proceed to describe, in detail, every part of his parade experience.

Well, when I got old enough to realize what he was doing I turned it against him. Because that's the kind of good kid I was. Am. Whatever. I'd say something like, "Daddy, come quick. There are strange balloon characters taking over the streets of New York! What's going on, Daddy? I'm scared!" Even when I moved away, I'd call home and say something like, "Hey Dad, there's a parade in New York. Have you ever heard of it?"

Now that I'm a responsible adult and parent (snort), I get Ten to call his Grandpa and do the job for me every year--because I take my responsibility to raise the next generation of smart asses very seriously. ;-) But just to keep him guessing, I didn't call this year. Hey, you gotta keep those parents guessing--never let them see it coming.