The only time I can remember all of us on my old man’s side of my crazy and weird family ever getting together in one legal place for any amount of useful time and for getting to know each other for more than a visit was when I was about half as old as I am now. It was when there was a big piling of a lot of warm and cold bodies all together in one place: that famous, magical, joyous, and deadly family reunion on Grandpa August’s home place. It was, I’ll have you know, the only family reunion ever known that the local newspapers and some big city newspapers wrote about for a solid year just so news-starved readers could catch up on something important in their lives besides just the funnies and chuckling over Andy Gump on colored Sunday.
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