"...and then they made me their chief"

Every August, I spend a week with my Grandma. This is the same week that her church - Lake Creek United Methodist thank-you-very-much - hosts an annul campmeeting.

At this point in the story, most people ten to picture a bunch of radials under a tent with some screechy pastor calling down fire and brimstone. Indeed, we used to have one of those, but we saw to it that he got uninvited. My point: we're Methodists. We are very calm and sedate people who only get riled up or clan infighting.

As you might expect, it is the part of Missouri where everybody has known everybody else their entire life and is related to most. In the little community of Smithton, MO, there are a few clans to get straight: Monsees', Page's, and Cook's. Each group, of course, contains dozens of family names handed down through the ages. My mother's name was Gieschen and her mother's name was Monsees, making us a good deal more central than some other cousins. As a matter of reference, it is common to include up to 8th cousins in family gatherings unless the matriarch or patriarch has caused a rift; otherwise, some family in the name is expected as a placeholder. The Monsees's ten to see themselves above the other because we're of French origin, not German (Monsees = Monsées), though it can't matter much since we're from Alsace-Lorraine and would have spoken German anyway.

Family history aside, every August, I attend the oldest campmeeting west of the Mississippi. So do all my cousins. It is not a matter of personal preference. You go. It is as simple as that. Who else, for instance, at my age, can say that they have been a part of something for 18 years? Whilst that may sound like a long time to keep coming back, 18 years is just a drop in the bucket. This year's winner was 78. Due to the death of her step-mother's brother a few months ago, my grandma won the prize this year for the first time in her life. That says something about a congregation. It also says something for the traditions and expectations the younger generations are expected to maintain.

When we were young, we didn't want to go, but were forced anyway. Now that we're older, we can hardly wait. With the advent of facebook, its easier to stay in touch with long-distance cousins, but how many Missourians can say that one of their best friends is their 4th cousin who attends university in Texas. This, too, is an important note: our grandparents were of the sort you think of as squires, not bumpkins. The bumpkins exist, but they tend, more often, to be baptists. Our parents, children of the squires, craftsmen and townsfolk, are professionals. From JaCoMo to JoCo and Elon to San Diego, we ply our trades, secretly plotting our annual return to my Grandmother's table.

The particular year in question, I was rather young, fifth or sixth grade. My particular friends were the 4th cousins mentioned earlier: Austin, three years older; Alex, my age; and Reid, a few years younger. Reid was known for not getting along and making sure we all knew he only came because he had to. It was the Friday night of the children's programme at church. My group had already performed and I was in the congregation with my parents. Reid's class was lined up on the risers to sing. When the song started, Reid developed a rather cross look and firmly placed his balled-up fists in his pockets. Every so often, he would make a brief editorial comment, and things went on. We were used to this Reid: Reid the weed. As the songs progressed, Reid's neighbour, a little Demand girl (of the Page clan) tried her best to convince Reid to sing and do the motions. Thoroughly annoyed, he altered his editorial comments to address her, and we went on. At last, Reid reached a breaking point. He took his right fist out of his pocket, opened his hand and slapped the girl on the cheek, mid-sentence. The girl began crying and ran for her grandma in the front row; Reid bent down to tie his shoelace. ALL the Page's turned and looked back with fury at the section where we Monsees's sat. Those in charge knew there would be trouble, but most couldn't help but roll with the punches.