On the other hand, and on the other side of the family tree, in describing my cousins on my father's side, kindness is not the first thing that comes to mind. Eccentricity, extroverts, extremes and Darwinian tough love are the attributes I most remember.

"Stop it you guys!" I was about in tears, but no way I'd cry in front of my older cousins. I was almost six and very much wanted to impress them, but they were being deliberately mean probably just to irritate me. They only laughed and continued with their dastardly activity.

It was the Fourth of July. All the cousins, aunts, neighbors, and sometimes even neighbors' cousins were gathered at our house for our annual barbecue. A tradition that started well before my memories and when my family was much better off financially. The tradition petered out as all the cousins got older and began to move away.

The adults were all in the backyard gathered around my dad as he tended to our barbecue grill that was made out of a large 55-gallon drum on its side. The drum was cut in half down its length and hinged. There was a two-foot metal pipe at one end for a smoke stack. It was mounted on a stand made from rebar which also supported a wooden shelf for tongs, other utensils and a paper plate containing pieces of meat for test sampling and from which we kids would sneak early bites. It was a typical southern barbecue grill before things got fancy. There were at least four pork butts, at least that many slabs of ribs, and my dad's occasional experiment being tended to on the grill.

My dad's cooking experiments ranged from goat to raccoon. My mom came home from teaching one day to find a cooked racoon carcass on her kitchen table. My dad told her he couldn't eat the raccoon because it looked too much like a dog. His barbecued goat, however, turned out quite successful as did his beaver hot tamales. (I just got off the phone reminiscing with Earl who said the goat was too tough to eat because it was a Billy goat.)

My dad was convinced he was a better cook than he really was; still, everyone loved his barbecued pulled pork made into sandwiches with my mother's coleslaw and Wicker's barbecue sauce. I loved the ribs, but I only got the burnt ones. The others were reserved for the adults. I was an adult before I realized ribs could actually be tender and juicy. To this day, I still prefer my ribs burnt and tough.

The kids, as usual were unsupervised and scattered about the neighborhood running wild, setting off fire crackers, and drinking soda pop till they threw up. One of my mother's cousins worked for the Coca Cola bottling plant in town and brought cases and cases of every type of soda pop that Coke made. Sunkist orange and strawberry were very popular and made the most colorful displays when they were thrown up by the kids who had over eaten along with drinking too much pop.

Hop, hop, boom! The Kids were all out front in the gravel street watching the bizarre scene my older cousins were staging.

"Stop it!" my neighbor Terri and I pleaded. My cousins were putting firecrackers in the mouths of frogs they had caught. At first, it was funny as the frogs looked like they were smoking sparkling cigars as they hopped along, but the aftermath of the boom convinced me, this was not right.

"We'll, stop," Buzzy assured me pretending to be understanding. "You just need to bring us one of those kittens."

I doubt he was serious. I suspect he was just trying to impress our older cousin Earl by terrorizing me. It sucks to be the youngest. Although I suspected he wasn't serious, I wasn't taking any chances. Terri and I ran off to hide the kittens.

Buzzy was eight years older than I was, but I suspect he did whatever cousin Earl suggested. Buzzy was given his nickname by his mother who attributed it to the sound that accompanied his odorous emissions as a baby. She named their dog Tootie for similar reasons.

Buzzy's mother was the younger of my dad's two older sisters. She worked as an accountant and taught Bridge, the card game all refined southerners were expected to learn. She was divorced and so Buzzy grew up splitting his time between the two parents.

Buzzy grew up to be a gynecologist. I wonder what his patients would think of the way he mistreated animal orifices in his youth? I'm sure they didn't know about it or about his nickname's association to another orifice. I'm just thinking, it might be a good idea to check your doctor's office for any sign of firecrackers before letting them examine any of your orifices.

Earl the other cousin involved in the frog incident is fifteen years older than I am. He and my father were very close and very much alike. His mother was the Latin teacher, I will refer to again later. He is now a retired civil engineer with two grandsons Albert and William. Like my own grandkids, they are twins conceived with in vitro fertilization. Like their mom and dad, they are both graduates of Georgia Tech.

Earl denies the frog incident ever happened. He also denies letting his younger sister, my cousin Cookie, and myself shoot his Colt 45 revolver when she was six and I was five. We both remember it vividly. An old school desk with a pillow on top was where we rested the gun to fire in Earl's makeshift shooting range in their backyard. Also, the kick of a 45 is something a five-year-old never forgets.

Speaking of guns, it is frequently suggested the reason no other country has attempted an invasion of the U.S. is because of the number of well-armed households in this country. I also suspect it is partly responsible for keeping our own government in check which was the main reason the founding fathers created the second amendment. Like the other amendments that comprise the Bill of Rights they were added to secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and our posterity, from all threats to our freedoms especially from our own government. I hope it doesn't come as a surprise that I am a Libertarian favoring the government that governs least. I am proud to admit that since the early 1600's, our family has been part of that honorable tradition of crazy gun toting Americans quick to take up arms against any threat to their freedom. They have fought as citizen soldiers in most of our country's wars from the Revolutionary War to the present.

Our family has its fair share of well-armed households. Earl's and Cookie's collections alone would put most museum's and some National Guard Armories to shame. Even Earl's daughter, Susie, the math teacher and mother of the twins, is a "pistol packing mother." If you knew how really sweet that she is, this might shock you. She gets her sweetness from her mother and her Aunt Sweetie Pie. She got the pistol and the will to use it from her dad.

Our family's best gun story comes from a hunting trip Earl, Buzzy and Bubba's youngest son Owen went on. Bubba is Earl's older brother and although I really liked him, he did have the most irritating way of referring to me as, "little baby brother."

Buzzy had just finished rehashing the importance of gun safety to the group. Neither Earl or Owen needed this lesson. They were both more experienced hunters than Buzzy. To make a long story short, following his lecture on the importance of being careful where you pointed your gun, Buzzy accidentally shot Owen in his side! Fortunately, they were hunting ducks and not deer. It was just a buckshot flesh wound, not serious, and Buzzy is a doctor. The more serious wound was to Buzzy's ego. The family has never let him forget that incident. (Kid's if you want to learn to shoot, talk to your Uncle Jake. And remember, when it comes to settling conflicts, guns are the tools of fools and should only be used as a last resort. Your most powerful weapon is always your mind; so, use it.)

Earl claims his nature is the result of his mother always pitting him and his brother against each other. She was a staunch believer in Darwinism. This may explain why all four of her children turned out relatively successful. Bubba became a county judge; Earl became an Engineer; and their two younger sisters Cookie and Pie became teachers.

It probably also explains why her Latin students always swept the awards at the Midsouth Latin Tournament held every year in Memphis. I can attest that she was the hardest teacher I ever had. She threatened to fail me even though I placed distinguished at the tournament. Even the teacher's who had thrown me out of their classes never failed me. (BTW kids, being thrown out of classes for pointing out a teacher's mistake is something your grandmother and I have in common.) Anyway, even those teachers never gave me less than a B minus and yet my Aunt told my mother that I was hovering between a D and an F. That didn't happen. I think I ended up with a B. I'm sure the students from all over the midsouth that I had beaten out at the tournament all got A's from their Latin teachers.

I don't really think the cruelty to the frogs was the result of my cousins' upbringing. It is just the way most kids were back then. Even I did things of which I am too ashamed to include in these stories. I suspect we all have our sins. At least I never blew up a frog or shot one of my cousins. And to think, Buzzy was one of the good guys and as a doctor, was bound by the oath, "Above all, do no harm." All kidding aside, I've been told Buzzy was an excellent doctor. I know for a fact he was a very moral man who kept closely to his religious principles, something we can all admire and something of which his children and grandchildren can be very proud. Buzzy was taken by pancreatic cancer much too young. It was a loss to all of us and to his entire community.