I'm Still Going to Have Family Home Evening

For those who don't know, Mormon families are supposed to do this thing called Family Home Evening (FHE for short) every Monday night. You gather together every Monday evening for a song, a prayer, a churchy lesson, another song, another prayer, some kind of game, and then a refreshment. Most families rotate each week which of their various children is responsible for carrying out or choosing each of these. That way kids not only get to have a say in the family affairs, but can, say, help make the dessert they chose, learn to play the song they want on the piano, or spend all day creating their own board game to then force their older siblings to play.

My family played a lot of different games, not just on Mondays, but almost every day. On a good day, we looked just like that Mormon family in that one South Park episode. We played Bingo, Scattergories, Risk, innumerable card games, Hide ’n’ Seek, Poor Pussy, No Bears are Out Tonight, and Kick the Can.

You didn't play Poor Pussy?

I'll explain.

We sat around the living room in chairs facing each other in a circle. My mother would be “it” first, so she got on her hands and knees. In this cat pose, she approached her first victim, Dad.

“Purr, purr,” she said as she rubbed Dad’s legs with her face. “Meow.”

“Poor pussy, poor pussy,” Dad said, with a mirthful look of victory, petting Mom’s head.

Since Dad had succeeded, Mom approached me. “Meow, meow,” she mewed, making little tongue jabs at my right knee.

“She’s licking me!” I squealed as I tightened my jaw.

“Oh my gosh,” Karl said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Poor… pussypoorpussy,” I said, hastily petting my mother.

Sensing which of her children was most ready to break, she sauntered one hand and knee in front of the other up to Karl. “Purrr… purrr,” she trilled her tongue, rubbing her head on the outside of Karl’s thigh. “Meow, meow.”

“Poor-“ Karl began, his jaw clenched, trying to shake Mom, who was now nibbling his pants, off his leg. “Poor…” He began a painful-looking fit of giggling.

“Hah! I win!” Mom shouted as she sprang to her feet. “Now you’re the Poor Pussy, Karl.”

At sixteen, poor Karl was not happy to have to play this game, which seemed more appropriate as a lesbian drinking game, with his parents and younger siblings. But unless he wanted to forgo the half a jelly jar serving of Blue Bell ice cream, he knew he had to get on his knees and start mewing.

In my family, I may change the "churchy" lesson to an "edifying" lesson, but otherwise FHE may remain pretty much the same. I haven't decided yet about Poor Pussy.