Family Column By: Siana Herrera (published March 2001) Family is one word that can evoke a miriad of thoughts, ideas and feelings.My family, for the most part, is like a box of chocolates for three reasons: One, you never know what you are going to get, two, most of them are really sweet and three, there are at least three or four nuts in there. First of all, let me get this out of the way: Yes, I speak Spanish, and I was born and raised in America, and I am Mexican-American. For me, my family is as big as the state of Texas because we hail from all parts of the Lone Star State. We have people in Houston, San Antonio, San Marcos, Austin and of course, Dallas. I am not from Mexico, nor have I ever been there. My parents aren't either, nor are my grandparents, great grandparents or even my dog. So that should keep some people from asking me over and over, since many like to think that a number of us Mexican-Americans just crossed the border. No, I don't eat tacos every night, I don't own a sombrero, I don't have one family member named Maria Juana or Pedro and I don't speak with an accent like Speedy Gonzales, Ricky Ricardo or Carmen Miranda. With all that out of the way, I can continue to talk about my American familia. My mother and father are complete opposites of each other, my mom is quiet and dainty, my father on the other hand is the life of the party. After meeting my father, almost all of my friends tell me they know where I got my personality. My brother takes after my mother, and tries to throw a little of Dad in there every once in a while, but hardly succeeds in telling a joke the correct way, which is why we won't talk about him anymore. Family vacations were and still are some of the most fun experiences I've had in my life, and only a few of them have brought on near death experiences. Let's see, there was the one time I nearly died from fright at Disney World, a near-car accident in New Mexico and Austin, a blizzard on the Texas-New Mexico border and an earthquake in Las Vegas. Perhaps we should invest in life insurance, or just stay home. Scratch that, because it can be dangerous at home. Not physically, but egotistically. Everyday in my household is like an episode of Laugh In. Anything I do or say is bound to be under scrutiny for the insertion of a witty joke. Just the other day, I was sitting at the dinner table with my dad, waiting for the (believe it or not) lasagna to finish cooking. "I'm hungry," I said to no one in particular. My father held out his hand and said "Hi, I'm Lawrence, nice to meet you." Why be a plumber when you have the wit and wisdom to make fun of anything and everything? Rake in the cash like Jerry Seinfeld. It gets better as we take a look at the extended family. On my mom's side of the family, we have an electrician, a pharmacist, a police officer, another electrician and a housewife. Just call them the Village People. Well, except, they're not.....uh, you know...very good singers. My uncle, the first electrician, seems to think that I am still in 5th grade because he is always telling me the difference between right and wrong, what I need to do in order to become successful and has this weird way of punctuating every single sentence with a whistle. He sounds like one of those National Audubon Society clocks that you see advertised on late night television infomercials that makes bird calls every hour, on the hour. "All you have to do, Siana, is go to school, pay attention, and before you know it, you'll be headed straight to the top *whistle*" he says. Gee, thanks, no one has ever pointed that out to me before. I have another uncle on my fathers side that, whenever he calls, likes to make me believe that his Poodle, Squeaky, has miraculously dialed the number. So every time I see his name on the caller ID, I take a deep breath, count to ten, and answer. Without fail, I am met with a high pitch squeaky voice, and it always makes me laugh, no matter how stupid or childish it may be. Not that I'm laughing with him. My friends, on the rare occasions that they come to my house or our parties, always say "Wow, your family is so cool!" My reply is always the same, and comes with the same raised eyebrow look: "YOU don't live with them and see them day in and day out." Now, from this, you may have gotten the impression that I hate my family and that I wished for a better one. Au contrair, mi amigo, I absolutely love my family. This is what makes them unique and loveable. Can you imagine how I would be without the influence of all these Saturday Night Live rejects? I would probably be the worst person to hang around with, although some of you may think that now. I want to take this time to say thank you to all of my family, who have all made me who I am and I am extremely grateful and wish that I could be more like each and every one of you. Okay, maybe not everybody, but, hey, like I said before, I love each and every one of them, regardless of how they won't shut up or love to make jokes at my expense. I guess I am like the coconut filled chocolate in that Russell Stover's box that is my family, secretly wishing that I were the roman nougat, butter creme caramel, or the raspberry creme. Or maybe, like the box of chocolates leftover from Valentine's Day that sits on my dresser at home, I just wanna poke them and smash them and throw them on the floor and step on them because they just wouldn't stop whistling, or bite them and spit them out because they have that annoying and freaky giggle that gets on my last nerve, or...or.....wait, what was I talking about?....