COLE SLAW MIGHT BE YOURS. Baked beans might be hers. Stories are mine. While it might be summer, not Thanksgiving, my choice of side dish never changes. What I like best to bring to the table are stories.
But what is it that happens when families get together for the reunion, camp-out, wedding, sail or picnic, and those stories that are told by one are not agreed upon by all? We’ve all seen this happen, whether it be in the form of a toast or a tale.
Is this bad? Good? Entertainment? A reason to put on the gloves or get out the handkerchiefs? Well, all of the above, depending on the family, the story, and the story tellers.
My sister has a story about my birth that makes me laugh like hell. I have stories about our mother that can pretty much make Margaret leave the room. But the tale I tell of how Margaret got her name is one I tell once a year, and one she loves. And you’ll have to wait for that for next week, so tune back in.
There are some stories I never tell. And then there are those tales I tell that Margaret immediately retells from her point of view, or reports that happened differently, or–and these are my very favorites–that she says never happened at all.
We’re not unique. Back in the fall, we coined this phenomenon Side Dish. It’s time to bring out the checkered tablecloth and lay down a few more.
What’s your summer side dish?
No related posts.
First time here? Here's the idea: 
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
I actually just wrote a post about writing yesterday! How serendipitous.
There’s a story about a house guest turned unwelcome that my old roommate always makes me tell, even though it is mostly her story. This guest, who had been complaining the entire time – mostly for the sake of complaining, had some romantic interest in my roommate, so when the three of us were hanging out one night, I excused myself to bed to escape from the awkward situation. They continued talking, wherein he asked my roommate if he should just go, and she said that would probably be for the best. So they go upstairs to look on her computer for flights that are leaving soon, and all of a sudden, he flips out and starts cursing at her. She locks herself in the bathroom and manages to book him a ticket while he is screaming and pounding on the door.
Unsure whether coming out of my room will help or hurt the situation, I send her a text message asking if she’s all right, and she replies that her sometimes-boyfriend is on the way. Usually a jerk, he proved helpful this time. He’s a big guy, and friends with lots of other big guys who are all straight-edge. They all come over, most waiting in the car (I see all this from the second-story window), including my roommate (who I pray doesn’t leave me in the house with this now-crazy guy). He manages to get our house guest into a cab to the airport, and sends my roommate and I on our way to a diner with some cash, like a mafioso.
So we go to the diner, filled with the sort of characters you would expect to find at a diner at 2 a.m., starting to laugh about how ridiculous the whole situation is. Then my roommate’s phone starts ringing and ringing: our former house guest is, of course, calling and sending text messages begging for forgiveness, saying he can’t get on the plane because he doesn’t have any identification (which begs the question, how’d he get on the plane to see her?). She ignores the calls, the messages, and we go back home, half-afraid to find him sitting on our stoop. Luckily he wasn’t, and just became a good story to tell later.
(I also just realized how long this was. Sorry!)
Hi, Danielle: Thanks for this. Now there’s a vivid house guest tale. Does she tell it the same way? We love the she said, she said of the stories we all have and really enjoy hearing the other side, as well. Love this. Please invite her to join in with any details she’s got of the same tale.