Shanksville Horseshoe Pit

Family reunions will start rearing their ugly heads and bad wigs soon.

The Taylor’s have them every August but I don’t attend them any longer.

There are simply too many drunks to squeeze under one tabernacle at Whipple Dam State Park.

I do all my family reunions over the telephone and with e-cards.

It has been more than two decades since I last sat down with a heaping of maccaroni salad and baked beans and swung my arm to toss a horseshoe.

The red necks at my last family reunion in 1986 not only had to deal with an out teenager but nearly fainted in the summer heat when I tossed a few ringers around the metal pegs and showed them how manly I could be if I really wanted to.

I will always be remembered in my family as the handsome gay nineteen year old, the one from Liz’s side, who looked just like Randy Travis and could play adult games with the big boys.

There were several gays in the family who made my attendance at the annual picnic a walk in the park. The men were happy to see that I hung out with them around the horseshoe pit and not with the girls who planned a family quilt.

It is important to Liz that all her stallions and patch-workers gather under her wing of the henhouse from time to time, no matter where they put there peckers.

I get my gift of gab from her side of the family and hear all the gossip I need from her. There has been no real purpose of attending those reunions.

It is only the bad news we hear over slices of watermelon and baked beans cooked with two pounds of thick bacon.

"Look at your Uncle Steve’s bad knee, Charlie. Isn’t that the ugliest scab you ever saw?" they ask just to stir up conversation at family picnics.

Attending a reunion to catch up on lost relatives is such a waste of precious time with the convenience of free nights and weekends.

I called grandma yesterday to find out if the reunion would happen this year or if too many bridges had been burned.

"Hi Mal Mal!"

"Hi Charlie," she said.

It always amazes me how she can distinguish my voice from well over fifty grandchildren and several with lisps.

"What’s going on?"

"My sister Ethel thinks she is going to move in with me."

"Why not let her? You live in that big house all by yourself."

"I can’t stand the bitch. She has always gotten on my last nerve."

"I know what you mean."

"What are you doing?"

"I’m off work today. It’s a Jewish holiday."

She laughed hysterically because she knows that I know the family secret.

"Angie is here and so is my son Dave," she noted. "Want to say hi?"

Before I could explain that I had to go, Angie got on the phone.

"Hi. Do you remember me? I remember you. You looked just like Randy Travis."
"Oh, Hi Angie. Yes I remember you. How are you?"

"Good. Wow, September 11th was something else. Were you near the World Trade Center?"

"No, but I could see it smoking from my job in Queens."

"My husband saw the plane that came down in Shanksville."

"Really? Does he work down that way?"

"Yes. He and a few co-workers say they saw two jets flying near that plane and shot it down."

"Now Angie, that seems a little far fetched, don’t you think? I mean really..."

"Well you believe what you want to believe living up there in the big city, but I trust what my husband tells me."

"Maybe I’ll make it back to the reunion this year after all, Angie. Tell grandma I’ll call her back later."

"I want you to sing, Forever and Ever Amen for me," she giggled while singing off.

"Here, before you go, Uncle Dave wants to say hi."

"Charlie, my gawd, it’s been over twenty years since I saw you last."

"How are you?"

"Good but the kids will not get out of the house. I even bought them the property next door but they will not leave," he explained.

"Perhaps you make it too comfortable for them there."

"You are damned right I do. The little heathens got pulled over for smoking pot down in Virginia. That cost them $1,200."

"Well as long as they had fun," I said.

He laughed at that one and told me to make sure I make it home to the reunion this year.

He wants a rematch in horseshoes.