Every family has rituals. Every family owns its own ceremonies: intimate, secret procedures it would be hard to explain to someone who wasn’t flesh of your flesh, bone of your bone, brain of your very strange brain. Every family has done certain things a certain way, since time immemorial. Maybe it’s a particular phrase whispered in everyone’s ear before bed, a particular meal made to celebrate a victory, a particular way to part or say hello.
Or maybe it’s you and your dad standing in front of the bathroom mirror at 9:45 at night, wielding simultaneous toothbrushes and feeling the camaraderie of foam-filled mouths, pulling the same ridiculous faces and spitting in beloved, familiar unison.
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