With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I felt obligated to share the next small chapter of my story: The Initiation.
After my first visit to East Tennessee during spring break, we visited regularly for Thanksgiving. It has become a tradition for my wife and I to be there for the beginning of the holiday season. My wife's cousin, The Mouth of the South, always told me horror stories of boyfriends/girlfriends who were invited to Thanksgiving dinner, and shortly after "disaffiliated" themselves from his or her significant other. Hmm, I wonder why (I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out after you hear my experience).
Rewind a few years:
I was watching football with a few of the older, seasoned guys from the family. Between the grumbling and cussing at the TV, we heard one of the women in the kitchen yell, "It's ready! Yun's come in here and say grace."
We all stood around the kitchen as Aunt #2's (The Preacher's wife) husband prepared to say the prayer. As I removed my hat, I noticed all eyes were on me (I really should've been more aware of my surroundings). I was doomed...simply doomed. The Mouth of the South came out of the shadows like a ninja; deviled egg in hand. There was nothing I could do. Nowhere to duck, dodge, or dive. POW!!! Deviled egg in my eye, hair, and nostrils. Apparently, the initiation into the family was getting some sort of Thanksgiving sidedish shoved into the face.
Thought that was the funny part? No. Check this out.
Fuming, I slammed the door behind me as I started to wash the egg off of me in the guest bathroom (Next to the kitchen). Between the scrubbing, I started the cussing and griping that would naturally come with getting a deviled egg slammed in your face. After I turned the water off, I realized the prayer was still being said. Shit.
After I heard "Amen", I quietly creeped out of the bathroom. No one really said anything, but I knew they heard my profanities. I made my plate and started to eat in silence. From the other end of the table, Poppy said, "Well Kris, there are worse things than an egg in your face." I simply replied, "Yeah, like my girlfriend's entire family hearing me cussing in the bathroom during Grace." He quickly said, "No, like Samantha's (my wife) gas after she finishes off all those baked beans on her plate. THAT'S worse." Everyone died with laughter and soon forgot about my shortcomings during the family prayer.
After that unique dinner, I now know that Thanksgiving wouldn't taste the same without Wild Onions.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Avoiding the Flowers
I've been thinking of different ways to start this blog, considering the stories you will hear have been collected over a period of five years. My wife moved to Arkansas with her dad during our sophomore year in high school. I first traveled to her family's hometown in East Tennessee in the Spring of 2005. Her extended family lives in the lower Smoky Mountains close to the Georgia line. I didn't know what to expect (and with this family, I still sometimes don't know).
I guess we can start with my first trip to East Tennesee, which was our Spring Beak during our junior year of high school. We stayed with her mother (you will hear her referred to as "The Angry Divorcee" in later posts). Her grass was growing tall. I figured why not try to build some repore with my girlfriend's mother by offering to mow her lawn. I pulled out the old push mower from the shed, filled it with gas, and started to mow (making sure to dodge the flowers lining the driveway).
After I finished, I went inside and took a shower. After changing clothes, I walked out into the living room. A woman was sitting on the couch talking and smoking a cigarette whom I never met. Enter girlfriend's Aunt #1. She didn't introduce herself or ask me my name. She simply asked, "Yuns plannin' on pickin' them wild onions out yonder?" Everyone laughed but me.
I realized she was referring to the "flowers" I purposely avoided whacking down next to the driveway. Needless to say, I was not only embarrassed, but a little pissed off that my first impression was foiled by some damn "wild onions".
Later that day, I walked into the kitchen to get a soda and next to the fridge was a potato and onion box that my girlfriend's grandfather (you will hear him referred to as "Poppy" in later posts) built for all the women in the family. Carved into the top, it simply said "Taters and Unyuns". I chuckled at it.
Five years later, that girlfriend is now my wife and I'm still discovering that even wild onions have roots.
I guess we can start with my first trip to East Tennesee, which was our Spring Beak during our junior year of high school. We stayed with her mother (you will hear her referred to as "The Angry Divorcee" in later posts). Her grass was growing tall. I figured why not try to build some repore with my girlfriend's mother by offering to mow her lawn. I pulled out the old push mower from the shed, filled it with gas, and started to mow (making sure to dodge the flowers lining the driveway).
After I finished, I went inside and took a shower. After changing clothes, I walked out into the living room. A woman was sitting on the couch talking and smoking a cigarette whom I never met. Enter girlfriend's Aunt #1. She didn't introduce herself or ask me my name. She simply asked, "Yuns plannin' on pickin' them wild onions out yonder?" Everyone laughed but me.
I realized she was referring to the "flowers" I purposely avoided whacking down next to the driveway. Needless to say, I was not only embarrassed, but a little pissed off that my first impression was foiled by some damn "wild onions".
Later that day, I walked into the kitchen to get a soda and next to the fridge was a potato and onion box that my girlfriend's grandfather (you will hear him referred to as "Poppy" in later posts) built for all the women in the family. Carved into the top, it simply said "Taters and Unyuns". I chuckled at it.
Five years later, that girlfriend is now my wife and I'm still discovering that even wild onions have roots.
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