CHARISMATIC MEGAFAUNA

By Quiconque

Michigan Wedding, Part 1: The Arrival

We got back from the wedding Sunday night and I must admit that the ceremony and the reception were great. I actually had a good time. I even danced. Unbelievable.

Don't worry. A lot of shizzle went down, and I'll tell you all of it. But it's going to take a few entries; so be patient.

La Belle H�l�ne, Super Fudge, Brother Ephraim and I flew to Michigan while the rest of the family drove in the minivan. On the way to the airport, Br. Ephraim sat up front with the driver, a friendly, affable fellow. The driver and Br. Ephraim got into a lively discussion about all the saints named Francis (or Frances) and whether the two Ghanaian nuns Ephraim met were really from Ghana.

"There are no nuns in Ghana," insisted the driver. "I am from Ghana and I never heard about any nuns there."

But Br. Ephraim was equally insistent, "Oh yes, they were from Ghana. I met them. They taught me a little song. I'll sing it for you."

The driver recognized the song, acknowledged that Br. Ephraim was right, and then chimed in. We rode the rest of the way to the airport serenaded by Ghanaian folk songs.

My family, taken together, is a large group of small brown people. There are a few variations. The Chinese cousins are less brown; the German cousins are less small. But in the main, we are small and brown, all descended from a tiny brown woman, Elsa Vasconcellos Carr. I forget, living in New York, that there are places in the country where the sight of many small brown people is unusual. Grosse Pointe, Michigan is one such place.

We drew strange looks even in the Detroit airport. I attribute this to Br. Ephraim's robes rather than our small brownness. Our Detroit cab driver, also a small brown man, commented that "many Indians" seemed to have come on our flight from New York. (We didn't notice any, by the way). He then asked us if it was "Free for Indians Day" at which point we realized he though we were Indian. We didn't correct him. When he gave me his business card in case we needed a taxi during our stay, I discovered that his first name and mine differed only by the last letter. We small brown people, I guess we're connected.

Our goal was to be the first to arrive at the hotel and eat lunch before we had to deal with the family en masse. My parents arrived shortly thereafter.

Half an hour later we invaded the IHOP next door. Three generations of cranky, tired, small brown people. And more than one of us is evil. People snapped at each other. Parents yelled at children with no regard for either the age of the child (Hello, I'm 33!) or whether the child was theirs to yell at in the first place. Attempts to protect the younger kids from the wrath of crazy aunts were thwarted by the kids' own obnoxious behavior. We made good spectacle.

Next time: A medical emergency unites us in a way we had not envisioned.

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