There are few weekends when all members of the Kranz family are home, when the two college-aged hooligans have both returned to do laundry, when the dad and the older brother are not at the cabin and when the mom isn’t out of town.
These weekends usually make the dog really confused. “Why are all my humans home at the same time?” I can tell he’s thinking. “So many people, so many smells. This is all so different!”
Despite this rarity, I am always surprised with how quickly we all (including the dog) get back into our familiar familial groove, the routine and conventions we had before anyone moved out: my dad still shows us kids the new duck call or fishing lures he bought, my mom still practices piano after dinner, my brothers still threaten me with physical violence if I sing one more show tune.
But my favorite Kranz family routine is Sunday mornings with the Star Tribune newspaper, which rarely strays from the following order: My dad will be the first one up, and, after walking the dog to the mailbox, he’ll sit down at the kitchen table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. He’ll read only the world news and sports sections, leaving the formally flat and organized bundle in a not-so-neatly stacked pile, the folds a little off from before.
My mom will read the paper after we’ve returned from church. She’ll sit down with her lunch and begin the crossword puzzle, the dog’s face nuzzled in her lap, pressuring for food scraps that he’ll of course get because he’s adorable. Following close behind will be my older brother who’ll read the comics, giving me a preview of the few I should look for as I wait my turn.
I’ll be the next reader, beginning with the variety section to get the low-down on upcoming music performances and book releases, then attempting but failing to provide any additional answers to the crossword puzzle my mom left behind. (Three-letter word for “make lace”? They don’t teach that stuff in college.) I’ll peruse the local news section, mostly for the police records that will no doubt include someone reporting a mysterious noise in their backyard that will turn out to be the snow melting on the roof, or a drunk Santa starting a small fire in a Target parking lot to keep—as he told police—“his reindeer warm.”
My younger brother will be the last newspaper reader, and by this point pages are out of order or all together missing and words are blurred from food stains. It doesn’t so much matter though, as he only reads the sports section. “Everything you need to know about the world is found in sports,” he’ll say, and with that comment I will wonder how it is possible for us to be of the same gene pool.
Maybe it’s because I’m nostalgic, maybe it’s because I feel less connected to the Twin Cities here in St. Peter or maybe it’s because I, too, have followed in the footsteps of my grandmother and mother and have become obsessed with crossword puzzles, but every Sunday morning on campus I walk downstairs to the newspaper stand in Southwest Hall and pick up a copy of the Star Tribune.
Even away from home, I can’t break my familial routine.
The paper might not get the same wear and tear as it would at home on the kitchen table, but it still reminds me of home life, and it’s something I look forward to doing. Taking time out of the day to read the newspaper—Sunday or any day—reminds me that there is life outside of college, that the world keeps going. It also shows that as much as I may try to distance myself from my family in these college years, there are some tendencies, traits and routines I simply can’t let go of. Or at least I don’t want to. And there’s nothing wrong with that, either.
My family still can drive me crazy. Most peoples’ do. But I can’t say I don’t look forward to the weekends when everyone is there, when the Sunday newspaper routine will be put into play, when my dog will simply be happy to have the extra hands home for scratching.