Whenever I use precious paid time off (PTO), I make the most out of the day, like a quintessential Virgo. Since I’d taken a Friday off to attend Dad’s family reunion, I’d scheduled to get my car inspected at 8:15 AM. Plenty of time for the mechanics to perform a state inspection, then I could go grocery shopping before returning home to hit the road with my family.
That whole plan must’ve made the devil smile.
As usual, I had a backpack with my laptop and iPad to work on a few creative projects as I waited. The silver lining was having PLENTY of time to get a lot of things done. Even my concierge smiled as she broke the news to me: “Things can never be simple, can it?”
From there, she informed me that my car wouldn’t pass inspection unless they put four new tires on. In addition, they didn’t have the tires in stock, but could get them from someplace down the road within 15 minutes. My concierge knew that I’d planned to go out of town that morning and she worked hard to have everything ready by lunch time, a mere three hours later than I’d expected. At least everyone was ready to go by the time I arrived home.
Mom drove the first leg of the trip and my sister drove the last leg with me playing navigator while riding shotgun the entire way. We made good time until we hit the hotel lobby. A long line awaited.
Apparently, the hotel computers were down globally. Instead, they used analog technology, resulting in guests reporting to occupied rooms.
Our reservations for two rooms under my sister’s and mother’s names, magically turned into reservations under mom’s and my name. Despite the fact that our names appeared in two separate places, the room numbers were the same: 340.
At least the four of us shared a suite. A small consolation, but I had been looking forward to having a break from my nephew. Our temperament clash makes seeing one another during the holidays and other rare occasions ideal. Given our current long-term living arrangement, we’d already banked an entire lifetime’s worth of “holiday time” together.
By the time we returned downstairs, the extended family were in the throes of BINGO and I was hangry. Rarely do I eat dinner past 8 PM. Fortunately, the kitchen was still open. I enjoyed a cabbage-based Asian salad with sauteed shrimp. Only after I’d inhaled most of the dish did I remember the growing outbreak of explosive diarrhea linked to salad. But that was just iceberg lettuce, right?
Next morning, Mom, my sister and I went down for breakfast. Of course my nephew had slow-assed around, so we left him behind. Not to worry, finding his way to food was definitely one of his top three skills.
As we checked in for breakfast, the surname associated with our room number was incorrect. We informed the hotel employee of our last name and how many of us were in the suite. Too bad I hadn’t noted the name that she’d had on the printout because, later on, I couldn’t access Wi-Fi, given my surname and room number.
Nonetheless, we enjoyed breakfast, complete with reacquainting ourselves with relatives and in-laws. The last reunion on this side of the family was in 2017, which I hadn’t attended. Unlike previous reunions, I was far more determined to play an active role in documenting our history, thanks to the organization and longevity of Mom’s family reunions.
We reconvened after breakfast around 9:45 to load up on a tour bus, headed for DC. Before we exited the hotel parking lot, our bus driver, who doubled as the tour guide, started his informative talk.
A vast fountain of information, the tour guide/driver overflowed with historical narratives, jokes, facts, and stats all the while navigating expertly through highway traffic and narrow DC streets.
Our first stop was at the MLK carving where we took a series of group family photos. Then, we loaded back on the bus and dropped off family members who’d already purchased their tickets for the African American Museum.
The rest of us remained on the bus to eat a cold cut six-inch sub lunch while continuing our bus tour of historical sites. Normally, I would have busy-bodied myself with taking pictures and jotting down notes, but a professional photographer alleviated me of all that, so I truly enjoyed taking in the sights.
Hours later, we collected family members from the African American Museum and went to a reasonably priced and well-stocked souvenir shop that also had clean bathrooms. Technically, there was a bathroom stall on the bus, but we were also on the bus.
Everyone in my suite napped except for me. I relaxed by working on my digital illustrations while watching TV, then taking a shower.
We all changed into “cocktail attire,” a phrase that I defined for the fashionably confused as “dressy casual.”
We were among the first to arrive in the hotel banquet room. The DJ had already begun his first set of the evening. The hotel caterers put the final touches of the buffet together.
My cousin, who was the head organizer of the reunion and emcee, made some opening remarks, introducing the live saxophonist who started his set. Later, a kid-friendly comedian did nearly an hour long set, and throughout the event, there were raffle drawings. As has been scientifically proven many times, I didn’t win anything. One of my nieces won twice and one of my sisters won a gift card.
At one point, the emcee asked for one person at each round table to come up and answer a question from a list on the table. My family voluntold me to be the spokesperson.
I introduced myself. “Good evening. I am Teresa Roberson, the third and best daughter of Karl and Velma Roberson.” After making other humorous remarks I stated that I’d answer two questions, one from each list of questions found at our table.
For the family recipe that should be passed down, we voted that would be Mom’s potato salad, which was so delicious, whether she made the regular or vegan version.
For the second question about what I’d like for the younger generations to know about our family, I turned my “answer” into a call to action. I held up the half piece of paper that the questions were written on. “I’d like for the younger generation to know our family tree. So, my ask is for at least one person at each table to write down as much of the family tree on the back of this paper.”
I added that I know that no one would outright lie to my face, but if they waited until they returned home to jot down a family tree, they probably wouldn’t do it. I asked them to do it before leaving the banquet.
Out of six large round tables, I received four family trees. A wonderful turnout, given the fact that the organizer/emcee had already started an electronic effort, which she invited me to add to.
One of my aunts, who was also voluntold to be a table spokesperson, handed me her written family tree. She’d written her son’s last name, which should have been the same as mine, with a “t.” When I questioned her about the spelling variation, she told me that there was a long story behind the “t” being dropped from our surname.
In that moment, I knew that I’d start a podcast series for this side of the family, called “Discovering the ‘T’.” I’d started “Strange Family Folklore” in 2020 for Mom’s side of the family to capture that history. Now, I needed to capture Dad’s side of the family.
Proving once again, I can never wait to complete all the other creative projects I have going on before beginning a new one. In the spirit of striking the iron while it’s hot, I have to capture as much as I can before it’s too late.