About nine years ago, my father’s extended family gathered together for a huge family reunion in Martin. Family that hadn’t seen each other for years and longer were going to be there for a weekend of food and fun. I had the brilliant idea that our family make nametags. Not with our names though. My father’s nametag bore his first and last name. The other nametags said things like, “Bill’s Wife”, “Bill’s Daughter” and “Bill’s grandson”. We wore those nametags all weekend, everywhere we went. Being a VERY small town, we probably saw every single resident of Martin at some point during the visit. Sunday morning at breakfast my mother said in that casual, innocent way which my mind twists and takes as an insult, “Did you know the children have chickenpox?” I was shocked to see the little spots that had sprung up all over Tommy and Sarah. We quickly loaded up and headed home while my parents went to warn the other parents about their exposure to chickenpox. I can only imagine how quickly word spread among family and townspeople. “You know those crazy people who wore nametags all weekend? Guess what their children had?”

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