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Family Reunion, or Genetic Similarity Leads To Similar Flatulence

posted by Carl Newman at 10:47 am.

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I spent the weekend camping at Devil’s Lake in Wisconsin and seeing a ton of family. Originally, the idea of a family reunion seemed strange to me, because most people don’t even know they have fourth cousins, but I see mine a few times a year. But the idea of spending time at my godparents lake house and drinking beer with my cousins was pretty appealing.

I learned a year or two ago that tempers are genetic (to a degree at least). After spending three days with nearly thirty family members, I’m starting to wonder if there’s a smart-ass gene. If so, we got it.

When you’re a kid at a large gathering with family you don’t see very often, you see a very limited part of their personality. The g-rated part. My family, in their natural state, are not g-rated by any means, but they put on a good show. So when I was 11 or so, my godfather was that nice giant guy who gave me a Christmas present. I had no idea that he had wonderful (if often dirty) sense of humor, because he was censoring himself for me. Not any more though.

We were at the beach and I was sitting on the shore in my jeans when my godfather walked up.

My Godfather: Not going swimming, Carl?

Me: No, I didn’t-

My Godfather: Got your period?

Me: Yup.

The weekend involved a lot of drinking beer (mostly in a polite way) and telling stories, because as much as we’re all family, our knowledge of each other is pretty limited. And I spent night around a fire exchanging the funniest stories we each had with cousins.

I noticed that when my great-uncle asked me what I was doing and I had a legitimate “this is the plan I have for the next six years of my life” answer, that I must at least kind of have my shit together. In fact, I decided that the surest sign that you’re in trouble at my age is that you shrug your shoulders when your great-uncle asks you how college is.

Also, and I realize I just wrote about this recently, but there were babies. And I’m a big fan of those, even more so when they’re babies that are genetically similar to me. I’m convinced that people can recognize genetic similarity on an instinctual level, and even with the three year old, Ethan, I can already tell that he belongs in this family. Because I watched him throw two hot dogs straight into a campfire, not because he didn’t understand, just to be a little destructive and play with the fire. Of course, I didn’t behave that way when I was three (it started when I was 16), but the similarity remains.

And babies are a hot commodity at a family gathering of any kind, sort of the way my generation treats a really-expensive new cellphone. And everyone thinks everything they do is adorable, so we pass them around and make a lot of “he looks just like his dad” type comments.

When I left, I thought about how little I get to see my family, and how well we get along when we do. It’s sort of part of an overall trend I’ve been going through lately. I’m starting to realize how incredibly lucky I am.

Carl Newman: appreciates when you don't feel like commenting, but still want to tell him what an asshole he is at warriorpoetresponds@gmail.com