One of them is, of course, embarrassing family photos. These will include striped sweaters, awkward poses, and possibly even pointing at the camera. These will be done yearly, compiled in a series, and posted on the web like this.
Another is an annual dance party at which I will not dance, but will look on with a smile. Certain songs will be carefully selected to be either hard to dance to or awkwardly sexual.
At the Wehr family table, nobody will be allowed leave the dinner table until they name the most important thing they learned today and/or provide a reasonable nihilistic explanation for the meaninglessness of the word “important.”
In the Wehr family bathroom, a spreadsheet will be taped to the wall recording the size, shape, consistency, and buoyancy of Wehr family waste products.
Ok, I probably won’t be quite that cruel, but I am shooting to be just eccentric and embarrassing enough that they will never be under the illusion that “normalcy” is or ever was part of their existence.
The latest idea was inspired by a Polish tradition called silva rerum which is basically a multi-generational commonplace book that contains anything their authors wished to record for future generations, things like diary-type entires on current events, memoirs, letters, gossips, jokes, philosophical musings, poems, genealogical trees, and advice (agricultural, medical, or moral).
Why is this a Polish family tradition? It seems like it should be an everyone family tradition. I’d love to see what my ancestors wanted me to know. And even more so, I’d love to unload existential musings all over my descendants’ asses.
This opens so many possibilities for me. I thought I might only get to embarrass my kids and maybe grandkids, but now there is no limit to the number of generations I can pester. I can imagine little Johnny opening up the Wehr family commonplace book in the year 2311, flipping to page 58,459, and reading an entry from me saying something like, “And really we’re all just a bunch of hairless apes struggling through life seemingly searching for love, meaning, or something grander when in fact we’re ruled by these tiny effing nucleic acids who just want to make sure their patterns persist for another generation or two.”
