"Tell me about this movie you are writing," says my father as we take our seats in the living room after dinner. It's cloudy out -- so there's no point in hanging out by the fire pit, there are no stars.
"Ah...," I start. I don't really feel like talking about it. I actually hate talking about what I'm working on when it's prompted by someone else. But, since my father is quite possibly the only person in the whole world who loves movies more than I do -- I can't bear to break his heart and not tell him.
I also can't tell him that I don't think I'll be able to finish it.
"It's fantastic!" my mother chimes in, and takes a seat next to me on the couch. "It's about this girl whose friends die and they leave her their children." she says.
"Like Baby Boom?" My father asks without missing a beat. He really should go on Jeopardy one of these days.
"No! It's' not like no friggen Baby Boom!!" Aunt Nancy chimes in as she pours me another drink, and takes a seat across from him. She looks at me and rolls her eyes like he's crazy.
"HAaaANK! What the hell are you doing in there? We're all gathered here in the living room and its fucking freezing so come here and build us a fire!" she says and then laughs at all of us.
"How is it not like Baby Boom?" my Dad asks, as he sits back and crosses his legs.
"[grumble, chuckle] to der hotel and gets us some wood, I's thinking." says Uncle Hank as he gives us a big smile before walking out.
"It's not like Baby Boom. Baby Boom was about Diane Keaton struggling with one kid. This is different. It's about..." I trail off for a second.
What exactly is it about?
My father raises his eyebrows, and nods knowingly before saying, "There's no such thing as an original story."
"What the hell are you now? Aristotle? Leave her alone!" chimes Aunt Nancy as she chuckles and looks at me with a big smile.
"I believe that was Plato." my mother says matter-of-fact, trying to defend my father.
"Aristotle, Smarishtotle, Larry King. Who cares!" says Aunt Nancy as she takes another gulp from her drink. She stands and starts dancing to the song that is coming out of the walls. She sways over to me, puts her hand on my face and says with only a slight slur, "You could write Baby Boom II, and it would be the best movie of the year! Don't listen to him, alright?" she says and then goes over to my Dad to entice him to stand and dance with her.
My Dad laughs. My mother shakes her head.
A moment later Uncle Hank returns with some firewood and starts to make some kindle with a few sheets of newspaper, "[garble, giggle] dem cool breezes iz whats dey is saying." he tells us.
Aunt Nancy shrugs and then reaches for the converter for the wall speakers. A moment later the music crescendos and the wood begins to crackle in unison.
"C'mon!" Aunt Nancy pleads to the rest of us as she begins to dominate the make-shift dance floor to one of the greatest songs every made. Uncle Hank takes a seat and laughs at her.
My father just stares.
My mother giggles, and a moment later she too stands and starts to swing her hips back and forth singing loudly to the words. I begrudgingly stand. I really don't feel like dancing, but the alcohol is kicking in pretty good -- and I do love this song.
"To Baby Boom II!" says Aunt Nancy and raises her glass. I clink mine with hers and take another gulp.
"You're all crazy," says my father from his chair.
We ignore him. A moment later Aunt Nancy puts her hand on my head; mostly to balance herself, and says "we're the gooood crazy!"
Then she kisses my cheek, laughs, and hip-checks my mother across the room.
The good crazy? Baby Boom II?
There really is nothing like family to try and cheer you up when you're feeling like a sack of shit and the world doesn't make sense any more.
But then, there is always Bon Jovi.
