As I sat with the rest of my family around the large, expensive, wood table, I thought how weird each of them was, except for me. My Grandfather in his wheel chair with one leg and eight fingers, my impulsive Grandmother jumping up to clear the table as soon as the first person put their fork down. My Uncle John still insisting on pulling my pony tail, even though I told him I was 12 and a half years old, and too mature to have that done to me anymore. My Mom laughing as usual, and the glistening in her eyes told me that there was no other place she'd rather be then sitting here with the people she loved the most.
             There was no talk of the family business tonight, and for that I was overly thankful, because business meant being serious, and I would much rather see my family smiling and laughing, then talking of what was to become of the plummeting tire company my Grandfather had owned for 25 years. Sitting around my Grandparents table was the closest thing I had to a family tradition, and although it seemed small compared to most families traditions, these dinners we shared a few times a year are forever etched in my memory.
             I began to look around and noticed everyone seemed to be done eating, since my Grandmother had every plate and serving dish cleared from the table. Suddenly I realized my Uncle John had disappeared. He was normally the form of family entertainment, so I began scanning the room in hopes that he would begin to do something amusing. I saw him open the china cabinet, and five glass ducks emerged from the back of the cabinet. As he placed them on the table, I noticed each ducks' back was hollowed out to form a small pool inside of it. Soon sugar cubes and a lighter appeared on the table, along with a large bottle of clear liquor. The bottle's label read, "Keirshvasa".
             My Uncle began pouring shots into the ducks, and distributing them around the table. I watched various memb
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