Closed Doors Build Good Families

My mother never closed the bathroom door when we were growing up.

Not for showers,
not for the deed.
We watched her apply lipstick, take spiky curlers from her hair (or spray the beehive), apply a sweet cloud of Chanel No 5 and told her our dreams while she relieved her bladder.

I didn't know this wasn't normal.

You can't really fault her. This was the woman who went into labor with her first child in a Kentucky outhouse and the door got stuck. Maybe she was traumatized by toilets and forever had to leave a door open.

Somehow, this little apple fell far away from that backwoods tree (and maybe even rolled down the hill a bit), because not only do I close the door to the bathroom, but every door leading to the bathroom. Unfortunately for me, all of these critters I'm rearing know how to open doors. (My attitude is, if you walk through a closed door in this house, the burned retinas are your problem not mine).

When one has children, there's some things one will tell them about their ancestry:

"Grandpa Gene once bowled a nearly perfect game, served in the Korean War and Budweiser was his religion".
"Did I ever tell you that your Great Grandfather died from serious burns when a pack of matches he was carrying in his pocket caught fire?"
"You're fortunate to be 'stuck' sitting around a dining table for supper. When I was a child, we rarely ate together".

You don't always think to tell them about the quirky traits:

"Aunt B always spits in her soda before putting it in the fridge so no one will drink out of it".
"Uncle Rob will forget his wallet every time he invites you out to dinner".

It may be fortunate that our memories are somewhat selective...
then again, maybe not.
I didn't think to tell my adult-aged son about my mother's open door policy.
He discovered it first hand the summer he stayed with her after leaving us here in England.

I don't know if his eyes will ever be the same.

Tell me, what quirky family traits have you closed the door on?