Old Guard, reunited in 10 days

Last year, when my Aunt Mary got married in San Antonio, the whole family--from Texas to Georgia to Pennsylvania--turned out for the wedding. We Whalens are a big Irish-Italian group with overlapping generations and an endless supply of kids and grandkids and uncles and aunts. As we left the reception and headed to the after-party, I stood there in the elevator with my two cousins, Mick and James. We're the eldest grandkids, so I made what I thought was an obvious statement:

"Look at us," I said, "We're sorta like the Old Guard."


Old Guard, right before the Sharpies came out



And something clicked. We paused and gave each other that look, the one you give when you know history has just been made. When you know nothing will ever be the same again. It will only be infinitely, more amazingly better. What ensued was an evening of high-fives, endless toasts and a round of "Old Guard 4-life" neck tatts written in black Sharpie (Gothic font). As the night wore on, we categorized the rest of the family, so everyone would know who was who:

Elite Guard:
our almost-90-year-old grandma
Nothing and no one can trump Elite Guard. She drinks wine and grew up with Sinatra. Top THAT.

Old Guard: duh, that's us--me, Mick, James
We're second in coolness only to Grandma, obviously.

Color Guard: my dad, his five siblings and all their spouses 

Our aunts were wearing bright-colored shirts, so this seemed like a logical name at the time. Too late to change it now.

Young Guard: the rest of the cousins and subsequent generations

No matter how hard they try, they will never be as cool as Old Guard. This does not stop Old Guard from giving Young Guard lots and lots of advice on everything.

Ink Guard: a catch-all category

This includes anyone in the family who wants to admit to having tattoos. See Color Guard, Young Guard, et al.

And all that nonsense stuck, as if we'd been saying it for decades and decades. Now when I send my cousins a text, I have to remember to look in my phone under "O" for Old Guard Jamed (sic) and Old Guard Mic (sic).

In 10 days, I fly to San Antonio for my birthday and for Thanksgiving. Old Guard will be back together, and all will be right with the world. And I'm bringing my Sharpie.