My family is overrun with good storytellers. I found this out in 1995 when we had our first family reunion. We all sat under a big, white tent in my aunt's driveway in Virginia while my mom and her siblings told all the family's stories. Some were old standbys, like the time Jimmy and Art opened all the Christmas presents. Others shed light on decades-old mysteries. We found out, after multiple years and theories, who actually put the beer under the wash house. It was Jack, who also confessed to accidentally shooting the neighbor's mule with a gun he had purchased on the sly. The highlight, for me at least, was my uncle Dan's infamous Snowmobile Story. You can hear it for yourself. That dork in the overalls is me.
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