Close, But No Cigar

My sister and me with our grandfather. Pop smoked
MULTIPLE cigars daily, but we weren't at all close. Go figure?

There’s a term for unique words and phrases used within families—utterances that’d baffle anyone outside the group. “Familect” (family dialect—get it?) has been called a comfort language, reflecting a family’s history. How adorbs, thought I! We Seyfrieds must have a treasure trove of these gems—a veritable familect dictionary! 

Imagine my disappointment when I came up empty. Oh, sure, my kids said some really cute things when they were little, but nothing that became a shared catchphrase in the clan. The closest we came was “bitty back” which referred to the rear-most seats in our station wagon. Another slight oddity—we had, for decades, a pink-hued chair in our family room. Whenever it was referenced, it was called, quite formally, “the rose-colored chair,” (even in its dotage, when it was far closer to “the muddy brown chair”). This was the only piece of furniture we ever called by its color. 

But these don’t quite fill the bill. I wonder, now that our gang includes newly-hatched Dimitri: can I subtly introduce something familect-ish? Maybe I can start calling our fridge a “frigimator”, or shoes “toe homes.” Alas, familects cannot be imposed, so for us, it’s probably too late.

 

We were delighted to celebrate our Patrick’s engagement to lovely Ashlyn over the weekend, with Ash’s big clan—and many of our fam too. It was heartwarming to observe how close her family is—the five sisters see each other all the time, and are always doing fun things together. At brunch, Ashlyn’s mom mentioned that she would love to buy some property and build a family compound, upon which each of them could construct a house. I asked my daughters if they’d enjoy something similar, and if horror had a facial expression, it would be Rose’s. We are lucky indeed to have Sheridan, Ya-Jhu and their kids in residence, but in my wildest dreams I cannot picture all of my offspring happily residing next door to each other.

 

A phrase used often by my dad was “close, but no cigar.” This referred to near-misses in life, and had its origin in traveling carnivals of the early 1900s. When a grownup would win a game of chance, the barker would award them a cigar  (those fabulous bygone days of lung cancer encouragement!) If they missed the target, well: “close, but no cigar.” 

 

No familect, no compound (no daily phoning or texting either). So, are we Seyfrieds close, but no cigar?

 

I believe we are close enough to suit us. Our mutual affection is never in question, and when we’re together we always have a blast. In anyone’s time of need, we all rally around. I cherish, not only my individual relationships with them, but theirs with each other. We may not have a familect, but we speak the same language of laughter and love nonetheless.

 

Though maybe...if I win the lottery and buy land in the south of France? Would that lure everyone into building adjoining chateaux? 

Probably “mais non.”

Chateau du Seyfried? 
photo by Dorian Mongel on Unsplash