Have you ever been pseudo-adopted by a family that is not your own?
It’s a nice feeling, actually.
Today I had the pleasure of being invited for Pizza to a sweet lady’s house. She is a sweet 80-year-old lady … with like 9 kids, forty grandkids, several brothers and sisters and … well, you get the picture.
And she throws killer parties.
She is going to college right now to get her degree … and when asked in a class on Gender what her opinion on sex was … she answered “fond memories?”
But the love and the pride were obvious, too. From the little brother who was fifty if he was a day to the little girls running around the house … about forty people in all. And I was not the only not-by-birth family there.
But this time was different.
This time was after yesterday … and a few days ago.
This time was after I had some Family Pride stories of my own to tell.
It started actually a few days back when my baby brother … my *cough cough* year old baby brother posted a video. It was a video he let us know about on Facebook so folks who wondered what he did for a living as the new CEO of a company actually did for a living.
Business consultant and author is such a vague description.
Then he told me that this video would be showing on screens … sort of near you. On all the American Airlines First Class and Business Class flights for the month of January.
Like, “Here come the movie you want to see, but first here is Holly’s little brother.”
I was very proud. He’s pretty smart. Maybe even smarter than me. Definitely less hair. You decide.
Then we come to yesterday. In a town a few hours from here.
Me. My daughter. My grandson.
I am extraordinarily proud of this young woman. She has always been a strong-willed, intelligent, talented, head-screwed-on-straight kind of person.
Does the pride show?
When she was all of two years old … maybe three … and no higher than my knee, there was an incident where a tall, mouthy friend of mine (yes, my friends come in all kinds) was helping me do something or another at my house.
He took great delight in teasing her.
“Hey shrimp! How’s the air down there shrimp?” He being 6′ 2″ or so.
And with all the personal strength of a person twenty times her age, she strode up to him … put both hands on her hips … and said “Stop doing that! It hurts my feelings and I don’t like it!”
The stunned man turned to me and said “Aren’t you going to reprimand her?”
“Hell no” I said “I couldn’t be prouder.”
And now you have an idea of my daughter. Wonder where she got that strength of character?
Which brings us to yesterday. Celebrating her birthday. In a Japanese restaurant.
All three of us.
Do you know the last time I celebrated one of my children’s birthdays … with them … sometime near their birthday?
Learned about what was going on in her life. Her future plans. Her current challenges. I couldn’t have been more proud.
I am sure I glowed.
Note to others: If you want to go somewhere with a one-year old who might shout, try a hibachi restaurant. There’s a lot of other shouting. The customers won’t even notice.
I probably should have known. Any time you go to a place that looks that nice … the menus were the type that had whole numbers on them. No decimal places. No pictures. Everything separate charge.
At least they had prices on the menu.
And. It. Was. Worth. Every. Penny.
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