In the case of the large social gatherings I remember as a child — birthdays, backyard barbecues, holidays and homecomings — the term “friends and family” is redundant. My parents' closest and dearest friends were almost all family. They needed very little excuse to get together, sit back, tip a few beers, cook up a big feed and watch their I offspring, a closely knit clutch of cousins, scramble in and our of whomever's home the tribe had assembled at that weekend. “In or out, kids, in or out — and close the door, for chrissakes, the neighbors are complaining about the heat” — that was a favorite of Dad's. Presiding over the festivities, and perhaps enjoying the warmth and camaraderie more than anyone, was the family's matriarch, Nana.

In those days, Nana split her time amongst the families of the children who lived in British Columbia, with extended tours across Canada to see The others. Always a welcome guest, she'd pitch in and help the adults, and always came bearing gifts for the kids. She'd pull us aside as we were running out to the candy store or local movie theater and discreetly tuck a dollar bill into our pockets.