I hollered: Ethel, don’t look!

I am thankful for my family.

It is the night before Thanksgiving. We are driving home from a night full a American consumerism: “Chinese” food in our stomachs, brand new books and tote bags in our trunk. My dad and brother are reciting lines from The Streak by Ray Stevens. I hollered ‘Ethel, don’t look!’ but it was too late. She’d already been mooned. Then the conversation shift to the history of mooning. My dad says he knows for a fact it was around during the Great Depression and he begins telling a story of his father in the orphanage.

When the Depression hit, my Dad’s Dad went to live in The Clark Home and later adopted that as his middle name. That’s my Dad’s name, too. My Grandma Addie would sit in the café and order hot water, mixing it with the ketchup because it was as close as you could get to free soup. My dad grew up in a frugal Catholic family, often living in mental hospitals where his dad was a doctor. He has five siblings. When my dad turned 18 he moved out and his parents moved to Big Spring with the younger children where they had several misadventures or raising small animals on two acres of land, but that is a separate story.

I am sitting in my bed in my quiet suburban home with lots of windows and carpet and floral print wall paper. My dad buys vitamin waters by the truck load and my mom tells me that flowers go to Heaven. My little brother pumps gas for my late at night when I realize I need gas and our three dogs are excited to see me no matter what my mood is when I come home.

I have the best examples for what I want to be when I grow up, I call them my siblings. They and their children are part of my life I am most in love with.

I have a church family who gives me support in absolutely anything I need. A family that sets such a faithful example that I dare you to walk out of Epworth with a normally cold heart. Not to mention that they are hilarious. Like really. I mean gut-busting. It’s genuinely fun to go to church.

I even get to go to AHS every day and play beautiful music with the most gorgeous Orchestra in the state, strike out against illiteracy and censorship and be creative in the most fun and exciting publications department you’ve ever seen, and just generally get to learn about things that my teachers love teaching me. It’s a pretty sweet gig.

I’m desperately thankful for the fact that I get to wake up each morning and live the life I live. When I go to bed tonight, the heater will kick on if it gets to cold, my facebook feed will fill up with the thoughts and actions of the most wonderful people I have the pleasure of knowing, a child in Africa will be wearing shoes that match mine, someone will probably be reading this blog, and I will get to let go of anything that bothered me today.

That just makes me excited.


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