Any reason works for a party

There will be a family wedding on Saturday, Aug. 1. I don't know how many this makes, but there have been a bunch. Terry Beth Hendrickson is my niece Andrea Hendrickson's daughter.

This will be only the second big family celebration since Terry Beth's grandmother, my sister Teresa, died last summer. But it's opening the flood gates

That evening, we'll have a family reunion. My five remaining siblings will all be here. Terry Beth's wedding celebration, in Grandview, will end around 4-5 p.m. Then we'll head to my place in Granger.

The reason for the gathering: Our parents 100th birthday. Okay, we're calling it the 100th anniversary of their births. They were the first Americans in our family.

Mom, Juanita Lara, was born March 30, 1915 in Florence, Ariz. Dad, Teodoro Escobar, was born April 22, 1915 in Silver City, N.M. They met on the migrant trail in Billings, Mont. in 1934 and married in 1937.

We've been counting family members for a slide presentation we're producing, and there are now 112 children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great, great-grandchildren. Mom and dad would be surprised by that and probably by the fact they range in color from black to white.

Their progeny is a UN of its own.

Terry Beth and her hubby will leave the area for their honeymoon about 5 p.m. I tried to talk them into coming to the reunion first, but they said they had something important to do on the Oregon coast.

I don't believe it. I'm guessing Terry Beth was afraid we'd impose an old family tradition and make her live with her parents for one week after the wedding.

Mom's parents were deceased when she and dad married. So she had to live with her brother Marcos and his family for a week after the wedding. On the eighth day, he woke her up and said: "Woman it's time to make breakfast for your husband." And he took her to a little house dad had built.

As soon as niece Dana in Florida learned of the reunion, she decided to come out. First she called to ask if we could have a Mexican dinner like her grandma Juanita used to make. We put it to a vote, and more people wanted Miner Burgers.

Other younger members of the family wanted what Dana did and accused us older ones of not appreciating tradition. So I came up with a compromise.

I will prepare the breakfast dad and mom made for us every morning at about 2:30 to cart out to the potato fields. We ate at about 7 a.m. The leftovers were lunch at about 11 a.m.

Here's the catch. Dana and my daughter Jenny will make the tortillas. They'll probably come out as round as Texas and Idaho.

Sister Jenny will help too. She's bringing the chorizo and tamales (not part of breakfast back then), and her husband Tommy is bringing jalapeños and salsa.

Not wanting to be left out, brother Bob called to see if he could give me some money to help out. I told him that was not necessary but that, if he insisted, he could give me whatever he wished.

"Okay," he said, "how about two of my grandchildren - the worst ones."

I'll take them. That will give me 14.

"Wait a minute," he said. "That will give me 12. Let me think. . . Okay, I'll give you one."

Bob and I have always been competitive. I think I'm going to catch him though. My daughter and daughter-in-law haven't stopped yet, and I still have an unmarried daughter.