As a member of a large family descending from parents from large families, the breeding-like-rabbits persona didn’t filter down my way (yet); fortunately, it did for the rest of my seven siblings. As it wasn’t long that I was promoted from the youngest of the clan to the youngest of the aunts during a tender single-digit age. With no diploma from the School for Aunts and Uncles, I wasn’t sure what that meant until the floodgates opened to three, seven, twelve, nineteen plus wee folk. Heart-first I fell with those who stumble while they walk, gave slobbery kisses, can’t pronounce their words, but can scream, cry and rebel before the drop of that hat. My auntie role seemed to be arranged by the universe–with ingrained Pied-Piper instincts on-demand. On good or bad weather days, or when my siblings needed a break, I would lure as many as I could, typically seven, to join me in what I thought was a good time. I later found out that one of my little darlings would yawn behind my back, or in plain sight when we posed for a photo to capture our tour of the free museum yet again.
After the sudden loss of my fifth nephew, the dynamics started to change with the crew that I am most closest to. A crushing realization surfaced. Youth does not come with a long-life warranty, at least until you reach your granny’s age. We are quite literally the sum of our memories. And if not shared in a blog, recited often or written down, a lifespan of misbehaving antics, painful loss, surprising confessions mixed with hilarious moments of an auntie’s revenge would disappear–family history forever lost!
Therefore, I say to all aunties, uncles and godparents to pledge and pen your stories of growing up and hanging out with these small, mid-size to tall, bundles of joy. And let’s compare and share our collective Wee Folk Tales for this dedicated blog for aunts, uncles and godparents who revel in being kids with kids.
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