One-thousand five-hundred square feet of home, overflowing with timeless memories and family history, and a young girl beneath the table. The kitchen table is the ideal spot for an only child to shelter from the commotion of what some might call an overbearing family.
The car’s engine quieted, headlights glaring through the window faded to darkness, and the footsteps and muffled conversations grew louder. Curled up beneath the kitchen table, I panicked and gripped Bear Bear closer to my chest. The door swung open, and my ears were bombarded with competing “hellos” and “how are yous.” A seemingly endless stream of people filtered in, some sitting on the couch, others at the counter, and a select few at the kitchen table, nearly kicking me in the head, but thankfully not yet seeing me.
As effective as my camouflage tactics were, two jarring words eventually reached my ears: “Where’s Jenny?” That simple phrase forced me to muster up just enough courage to allow myself to be hugged (though never hugging back), before seeking a new safe haven.
As a shy child, this was my routine. While I was comfortable around my peers, adults (especially the loud and affectionate variety) terrified me. Growing up as an only child, quiet and with reserved parents, my fear of my boisterous family stemmed from the typical serenity of our home.
Over 40 years ago, my grandfather and his brother, my great uncle, each purchased homes in Otis, a quaint town in the Massachusetts countryside. Each house is modest yet charming—unpretentiously decorated and rusticly furnished. The simplicity of the homes, however, does not reflect the magnitude of growth that has transpired within their aged wooden walls.
My extended family is incredibly outgoing, always engaged in some passionate discussion about the minutiae of each other’s lives. Wherever we are, we make our presence known. Whether we’re occupying half a restaurant or a hotel lobby, our incessant conversation can be heard for miles.
Because I’m an only child, people get confused when I talk about my “huge” family. My first, second, and even third cousins consider each other siblings-by-extension, a sentiment instilled by generations prior. Perhaps that was my grandfather and great-uncle’s intent in buying adjacent homes. Otis has become a time capsule, unifying my family—past, present, and future.
During many childhood summers, my family gathered in Otis for an event we call the Jamboree. This extravaganza consisted of spectacular fireworks, matching t-shirts, and 100 percent family time—a complete sensory overload for my younger self. But as I grew older I envied the outgoing personalities of those around me and longed to escape the confines of my introverted nature. Many anxiety-inducing encounters later (fake it ‘til you make it, after all), I came to treasure the craziness of my family much more than my timid, younger self could have imagined.
Looking back, young me could never have anticipated how significant my family would become to my daily interactions; it is impossible to know me without hearing about this cousin, that uncle, or my step-third-cousin-once-removed’s new dog. My extended family has molded my understanding of myself, and I eagerly await each Otis gathering.
Now, I am the first to run into the driveway, embracing whoever is behind those headlights glaring through the window. The four legs and flat top of the kitchen table that once shielded me from my biggest fear is now somewhere I thrive, passionately engaged in light-hearted—but deeply meaningful—conversation.
Has my shyness been mitigated through the years? Yes, though I recognize that the frightened, young girl beneath the table will perpetually live within me. I feel her timidity internally in each new encounter. But I regain balance and comfort through echoes of the Otis conversations that have brought me to this place of confidence.
I am grateful to have had role models to help guide the development of my personality, but of course I still appreciate my innate shyness. The same 1500-square-foot glorified wooden box, overflowing with timeless memories and family history, now represents a tangible sense of growth and maturity, with room to house adventures still to come.
