A Laugh Like Diane's

This week my husband's aunt and grandmother are visiting from Pennsylvania. My kids adore these two relatives, but really did they have any choice?  They are, indeed, easy to love. And also, when we are preparing for a visit to (or from) them, my children see a buoyant, excited side of my husband. It's one that, for a man who tends to be a teeny-tiny bit misanthropic, is notable. 


My husband David's early life was lived in (Great) Grandma Funck's house. His young parents, in grad school and in the early years of their marriage, lived with the elder Funcks for a time. And Aunt Diane, my father-in-law's sister, has always been a favorite of my husband's - she lived with him and his parents when she was in college.  She read him the Chronicles of Narnia.  (Chronic - what?  Sorry - I've got a middle and high schooler in the house.)  (In da house.) Diane likes to laugh a big, true laugh that opens up a room. And she is in love with rollercoasters. (What's not to like, right?) All to say, it's a big deal when the Funcks from Pennsylvania are in town. 


My brother-in-law recently made a beautiful video to celebrate the 90th birthday of Great Grandma Funck. In it, photos of her life from babyhood to the present, snippets of an informal interview my husband's cousin conducted with her, and other video clips are woven together elegantly. It's like a finely-crafted mini-documentary.  We've watched it several times together.  And, while it's playing, members of my husband's family have said, "Oh look. Theo has his grandpa's chin!" or "Can't you see David in that uncle?" 


Two nights ago, after a family dinner at my in-laws' house (with aforementioned, beloved, visiting relatives), my youngest said to me, "I'm not a Funck.  I'm just me.  I'm not really related to them, not in the way they talk about.  I don't look like any of those people in the video."  


We were sitting beside each other at the kitchen counter. She was coloring and I was sorting through a stack of school papers and forms that needed to be signed, clipped with a check, or recycled.  She looked up at me and I saw that she wasn't sad or disturbed.  She was just stating facts.  


I scootched the stool she was sitting on closer to me, put my arm around her shoulder, and whispered in her ear.


"Yeah," I said.  "Me neither."


And then we laughed.  Really laughed. It was big, open laughter, like her Great Aunt Diane's.