I Demand a VIP Pass To Your Midwest Family Reunion

Ahhhhhhhh (is this an existential scream or the relaxing sigh of familiarity that is family time?), the Midwest

Ahhhhhhhh (is this an existential scream or the relaxing sigh of familiarity that is family time?), the Midwest. Gorgeous mountains, sweeping plains, and several million tiny divots dotting said plains. Beautiful women consuming fresh frozen custard at Culver’s. A Bell’s Two-Hearted or a Rhinegeist Bubbles for every hand. Take me back, oh take me back. This is a formal demand for bed and board as well as thousands of empty calories at your next Mackinac Island family gathering. I will also also settle for any other popular Midwest gathering locales. Pass the pasta salad and pop. Daddy’s here, and he’s ravenous.

Midwest fact: Mount Mall of America, located in Bloomington Minn., is the largest mountain in all the Midwest

You need me and I need you. I need a VIP pass to your Midwest reunion.

You need someone to watch all of your bratty nephews and nieces in the crick, so you can take a bathroom break for once in your gosh darn life ding dangit. Someone who can scream, “Drop the rock NOW and move away from Harper, Oliver. Jeezy petes!” and someone who can whisper, “If you’re going to do that, go downstream, so everyone doesn’t feel the warmth”. Someone who accepts that the kids’ parents are shotgunning Budweiser's and making whoopee back at the cottages and can’t be bothered for at least the next 85–90 minutes.

“Drop the rock NOW and move away from Harper, Oliver, or you’re out of here for the day!”

You need someone like me to make excuses for you so you can go back to your cottage and release a few quiet tears while reflecting on the emotional carnage of snide passive-aggressive remarks about how you haven’t yet borne children, and you’re out of your 20s already. You may need a few extra minutes to reflect on the current cost of an airplane ticket relative to the deep pain of silent disapproval regarding your life choices by relatives. Some real Biblical shame.

you haven’t yet borne children, and you’re out of your 20s already.

Midwest reunion tip: do not display any outward emotions or aunt Patty, grandma Beth, and your second cousin Lisa will tear you apart like a pack of rabid jackals

I have some other useful skills. I can be very instigative and catty to specific relatives or in-laws during rounds of corn hole. I can start every third sentence with “Back in California”. I can disagreeably state “Who dumped the entire pepper container into the chicken and dumpling casserole?”. I can reprimand your uncle Lance for making you feel guilty for speaking up for yourself because you clearly said you didn’t want another roasted marshmallow on S’mores night. Later, I will politely apologize for my outburst, doing just enough emotional damage to make the effort worthwhile.

Midwest fact: mayonnaise-based salads are the hallmark of a superior life form

In return for my many services, all I ask for, at minimum, is a cold Coney dog on a stale bun. Perhaps a lukewarm Reuben sandwich with only a bite or two taken out of it, some flat pop. A place to sleep. If I do a great job, grant me the reward of some stale puppy chow.