The Day the Music Died

 

The Porch Is America's Last Peace Treaty

The Art of Family Gathering

Family gatherings used to be as predictable as Sunday afternoon naps. You knew who'd be there, who'd tell the same stories, who'd burn the biscuits, and who'd insist they weren't hungry before fixing a plate fit for a lumberjack.

My kids, hubby and I moved away from my family after Hurricane Katrina to the northern parts of Alabama where mountains pop out of the earth, a far cry from the flat piney woods of South Mississippi.

For most of my life we had family gatherings, but as the elder folks began to pass, less and less. The Sunday dinners became a distant memory. Now distance separated me from most gatherings.

But a few of my family folks will make the journey from time to time, so we gather once again.

Every now and then, though, the stars align. Mom flies up the interstate—driving like she's trying to qualify for NASCAR—with precious family cargo. My brother and his crew travel up, one son escapes Brooklyn for a few days, another makes the drive from Nashville, and suddenly the house is full again.

They all bring baggage of some type.

Political views range from full blown left liberal to Trump loving conservative, some are video game playing nerds hanging with non-techy old ladies who get lost with Google Maps telling them exactly where to turn.

Different generations with wide variety of tastes in movies, food, and music. Bodies young and old with bad knees and hips, mental challenges, and lots of medication bottles smattered among the shared bathrooms.

Culturally speaking, mostly all Southerners, with some Indian, Brazilian, and German folks to break up the patterns.

Spiritually, we have a vast range on that as well: non-believers to knocking on heaven’s door faith followers. One meeting we have had straight, lesbians, various shades of colors, and trans women all within my walls for a family meal!

Complete opposites on many spectrums, complete enemies if you listen to the world.

Yet somehow... no debates erupted. Nobody stormed out. Nobody unfriended anybody. We laughed until our sides hurt, sat on the porch, shared meals, played games, and remembered something our grandparents probably knew all along.

Relationships matter more than being right.

Maybe America doesn't need another shouting match. Maybe it just needs more porches.

Our family…maybe a bit different from yours… has a strange dialect, movie quotes become our family language.

Some families quote Scripture. And we do. But we also quote Star Wars, O’Brother, The Burbs and Sling Blade or random movies that make absolutely no sense to outsiders like the Town that Dreaded Sundown.

Out of nowhere, brother will say, “I know you have seen my skulls.” (Burbs)

And then another will yell, “It’s a trap!” (star wars)

People outside the family think everyone has lost their minds.

My family knows exactly what's happening.

There are different roles amongst my kin. Nobody voted on these jobs; they just come with the makeup of the individuals.

My brother is an entertainer comedian, my mom promotes memories of the past while taking pictures for the future, one cooks, one never stops eating, one helps clean another never gets up, one laughs and one cheats at Uno.

We have Porch therapy and coffee. Free of charge, no fees. The most important conversations happen from a rocking chair.

The ebb and flow of conversations go from “remember when”, “remember old so and so”, “this week’s health complications” and gossip about the rest of the missing family.

The Great Family Amnesia sets in, no one can remember a story the same, or people’s names or when it happened. We even forget we don’t agree on most of life’s important stands.

Some are louder than others. Some think they know everything, and a few probably do. Yet for a few precious days, none of that mattered. We gather. We love. We laugh. We ignore the things that annoy us.

We talked about nothing and everything, linger on the porch, produce hysterical laughter at card games, enjoy shared meals that somehow tasted better because everyone was around the table, and remembered that family isn't held together by perfect agreement. It's held together by grace, shared history, and choosing each other anyway.

I don’t know how many more gatherings we can squeeze in before we lose more of the people I love the most in this world. I treasure the moments.

In a culture that keeps asking us to pick sides, maybe the greatest gift isn’t choosing a side at all. Maybe it’s simply pulling up another chair and listening.

Maybe America’s last peace treaty isn’t signed in Washing DC.

Maybe it is written every time a family chooses love over being right. On an old porch with a glass of tea.