History

I've been spending a considerable amount of time on the road lately. Burning up the highway, as they say. I don't normally get much time to myself, since I'm generally shuffling small people to places I would never choose to go if it weren't for said munchkins. So any alone time in the car that isn't spent on the cell is spent deep in thought. Luckily, I make a lot of calls.

However, I've realized in the past couple of weeks that history is a wonderful thing. Not ancient history, like Greeks and Romans and other people who don't speak English, or even current history, like the kind my brother talks about 24/7 because (1) it's his job, and (2) he's weird, and he actually enjoys that kind of junk. No, I'm talking personal history.

Never fear, I have examples. Mother's Day, 2006. My brother and I and our respective families are dining out to celebrate the day. Our waiter approaches the table and states: "My name is Lucas." I look at my brother. He looks at me. We both sport the Salley grin and I say, "I wonder if he lives on the second floor." We both erupt in laughter. I almost soiled myself. (Lucas the Waiter did not find my musing quite so a-musing). Now I ask, how many people could you do that with if you didn't share a history?

Okay, more examples. I have realized recently that my brother and his wife and me and SuperHubby have reached a milestone. It took a few years because they got married before we did, but now the 4 of us have been in each other's lives longer than not. Did you get that?? To me, that is an incredible thing, especially since we're all incredibly young and hot. Point being, we can say "Oh, Dad's just being Dad" or "You know how Mom is" and everyone understands. No explanation necessary. The history is there.

Friend history is just as fabulous. You know, the first few years after allowing someone into your inner circle, you constantly have to repeat stories and remind them why you say or do the things you do. You're forever saying, "Larry, my brother" or "Larry, my uncle" or "Larry, my dad" -- okay, maybe just in my family. But after a few years, the friends are elevated to the point where there's no need to go into detail. They know the family junk. They know the personal junk. And they still like you.

History is cool. The looks that relay a message, which lead to hysteria. The thoughts of a loved one that result in silence, followed by a pile of stories and more laughter. Reminders of good times and bad times, all ending in laughs and smiles and thanks to God. History always ends in happiness and thanksgiving. History is cool.