Last Thursday, Ben and I started what is surely to become a beloved holiday tradition: the post-feast Holiday Dork-off. We were in Arizona at his sister's house, gathered around the table having our evening snacks of leftover ham and apple pie. I don' t know how it started, but I know how it finished: I won. Jenny and the kids judged as we traded stories of our utter dorkiness. I really thought I would garner the most points from my scar story- the three stitches I got after an unfortunate bowling accident. But it turns out the big points came my way when I revealed that the only time I ever got a detention in high school was when I ran past the lunch monitor, late for my trombone sectional rehearsal. Ben's paltry tales of summers at math camp just couldn't compete.
Our youngest nephew wanted to play, too, but we had to gently explain that you have to be a dork to enter the dork-off. Those kids are undeniably cool, even if they do have the nerdiest of nerds for an aunt and uncle.