CHARISMATIC MEGAFAUNA

By Quiconque

Michigan Wedding, Part 2: Goat-Mouth Strikes Again

It is universally acknowledged by my family that my mother has the power of goat-mouth. The force of the goat is strong in her. When I was 10, my mother gave me goat-mouth. (That�s the expression. One �gives� goat-mouth.) It caused me to crash into a plate glass door.

My cousins and I were playing catch with a tennis ball in the yard one autumn afternoon. Earlier in the day, my father replaced the screen in the back door with glass. My mother leaned out the dining room window to warn us not to break the new glass my father had just installed. We rolled our eyes. What did she think we were? Simpletons? We were playing far from the door with a tennis ball! None of us could muster enough strength to break the glass with a tennis ball. My big head was another thing all together. Before I knew what was happening, I was hurtling inexplicably and inexorably toward (and a split second later, through) the jinxed glass door. Such is the power of my mother�s goat-mouth.

Remember the brown family in the IHOP from the last entry? Well, my cousin's husband tried to rescue the kids by taking them back to the hotel to watch TV while he took a shower. Ten minutes later the kids returned, the three of them on the verge of tears. They�d been jumping on the beds, crashing into the wall, and making general nuisances of themselves. He couldn�t shower because he had to keep running out of the bathroom to investigate the banging and the shouting. Fed up, he sent them back to the restaurant in disgrace.

This jumping shouting banging behavior is a favorite pastime of these children. Two years ago on a family trip to Florida, they jumped in the beds, crashed into the walls, and one of them received a small but bloody head trauma. So, as the kids sullenly explained why they�d been banished from the room, my mother admonished them, �Remember what happened in Florida? All we need now is for someone to bust their head and ruin the wedding for everyone.�

She put the mojo out there.

Later that evening, we got a call from the Mother of the Bride (Aunt MoB) saying she couldn�t come to the hotel to see us. The Father of the Bride (Uncle FoB) had �bust his head� and they were rushing him to the emergency room.

We didn�t find out exactly what happened until the next day, but that night we couldn�t help speculating how a grown man could bust his head. Years ago, Brother Ephraim, perhaps in his impression of Louisa from Persuasion, jumped down our basement steps and cracked his skull on the low ceiling. (His cry, �Oh Lord, I bust me head!� is an oft-repeated refrain in our family, and was definitely uttered a few times when we heard of Uncle FoB�s injury).

As it turns out, that night Uncle FoB had been waiting impatiently in the car for Aunt MoB and their daughters to come out the house. He decided to move a wire tomato plant cage from the side of the garden. He lost his balance and fell face-first on a concrete edge treatment. He did not put his hands out to break his fall because he was holding the cage, which ended up perforating his shirt and puncturing his chest. He broke his nose and messed up his face, requiring 50+ stitches. He was not well enough to attend the wedding, and the Bride walked down the aisle on the arm of her godfather.

Once we understood how serious his injuries were, the family put aside most of our differences and rallied around the Bride, who was understandably very upset.

We were able to get to know our cousins who had been kept from us for so many years. Aunt MoB had the opportunity to spend time with her sisters without worrying what her husband thought about it. And, all the people who�d heard bad things about us finally saw us at our best, pulling sweatshops to decorate the hall, paint the candy flowers for the wedding cake, glue the wedding programs, set up the table centerpieces, and keep the Groom from spying on the Bride�s dress before the ceremony.

Well, some of us were at our best. Others were their usual selves.

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