Sacramento (Part 2)

I have a very extensive extended family. My mom is the eighth of nine children.  All but one have had their own children. Some of those children have also had children (in case you aren’t keeping up, they would be my first cousins once removed). My grandma had two sisters who each have children (my mom’s cousins) who have also had children (someone help me — are they second cousins?).

When we all get together, say for a milestone birthday or a funeral, we walk around with very little idea whether the people we’re rubbing shoulders with are or are not related to us. It probably doesn’t help that our family has a propensity for adopting non-family members as “aunties” and “uncles.”

I know a lot of Chinese families are like this, but sometimes, I think our family takes this to an extreme. Until someone marries someone else we thought was their cousin, but actually, they aren’t related by blood, so it’s still kosher. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit.

Sacramento (Part 1)

When I was little, maybe one or two, we used to fly up to Sacramento to visit my grandma. That was back in the day, when you could still show up minutes before your departure time, frantically check in your luggage and make a mad dash for the gate (Dad tells me there used to be a commercial with OJ Simpson running through the airport, leaping over people and sprinting to the airplane — so I guess we weren’t the only ones).

Apparently, I would giggle the entire way — I thought it was a game — oblivious to my parents’ panic as we rushed through the terminal, me bouncing up and down in my dad’s arms laughing like a crazy person. Somehow, we always made it in the nick of time, finding our seats moments before the doors closed and the plane transported us to Sacramento.