Reunion Fever

We are in serious countdown to that most dreaded event -- the Simpson family reunion. The one-day carnival is Sunday. It will feature one sideshow after another. The faces and names will whirl, the alibis and excuses will pile up hip-deep, and the lies and prevarications will fly like crows into a corn field. It is hard to imagine that we hold this extravagana without benefit of alcohol.

The Old Goat will be in his glory on Sunday. He has lived long enough to become the undisputed patriarch of the family. He is treated with considerable deference. I think he deserves it. He is, after all, the Simpson who "made" it. He got off the farm, out from under the share-cropping grind, by virtue of being drafted into the military during WWII. When he returned, he landed a steady job in the cotton mill. He married well, bought a solid house, raised two boys -- both of whom stayed out of jail -- and is now retired. He made it.

As prince of the Simpsons, The Old Goat is expected to provide a fair amount of the food for the cloud of locusts. Tinker and I discussed the preparations. We are doing a ham, some side dishes, and a dessert or two, all on Dad's behalf. I think he appreciates our meager efforts.

Naturally, the Simpsons would pick the hottest, most humid Sunday in the heart of the summer and in the Deep South on which to hold an outdoor spectacle. The mosquitoes are sharpening their beaks, the ticks are practicing close order drills, and the flies are forming up for a massive air strike. This is the jackpot. What bug could resist scantily-clad Simpson skanks, hordes of red-headed children running about in wild abandon, and mountains of fried food?

Considering that I have been absent for the last forty of these reunions, and since the family is large, it is a given that I will know practically nobody at the soiree. I have fifty-three first cousins, most of whom I would not know if they walked up and hit me with a stick. We Simpsons are a lusty and prolific lot. So eager are we to "go and multiply" that we have 15-year old mothers, 30-year-old grandmothers and 50-year-old great-grandfathers within the tribe. There are so many of us around here that it is highly likely that the Wal-Mart clerk, the fast-food server, and the guy who picked up your trash are all relatives.

I recently went to one of my uncle's for a cook-out. Got talking to a very nice looking women who appeared to be about my age. Come to find out, she is one of my first cousins. I suppose it is as Tinker one time commented, "Time to go to the reunion and pick up a date."

With all those Simpsons gathered in one place, if I were the police, I might show up with a list of unsolved crimes. Sunday could be their lucky day.