Why I Love My Family

          K and I traveled recently to my sister's, to attend my niece's high school graduation. I'm happy to report that it was a success. M, my niece, graduated with honors, looked beautiful, and managed a pair of sparkly silver pumps with precipitously high heels with grace. She's going to college in the fall. With scholarships. I'm crazy proud of her.
          But this is not why I love her, and the rest of the people to whom she and I are jointly related. That can be summed up in two words—a product name as it turns out: Color Bug. M had a color bug, and she and I were playing with it before dinner. I put some in her hair. She ran off to find a mirror and pronounced the effect cool. My dad looked at her hair and clamored for some, too. My dad. Do I not have the most excellently cool dad ever? I gave him dots on his crew cut. My mom allowed us to see what orange hair chalk looks like on her gorgeous white hair. Then R, my nephew (and the best and most wonderful of all possible nephews), demanded Color Bug. So M gave him bold Color Bug.

    
          R ran off to the mirror and came back laughing. He decided M needed more Color Bug.

          R and M, by now high on Color Bug dust, decided to brighten up Godmother's hair.

          And then their mom's hair.

  
          And then the dog's hair. They have a Very Good Dog.

          Nobody had vapors at the thought of wearing orange chalk in their hair. Nobody immediately ran to the bathroom to remove the Color Bug. Instead, they posed for orange-haired photos because we are not afraid of loud pagan colors and giddy sillines in my family.
          And this is why I love them.