They only come out at night, or maybe also during the day

You know how everyone has a crazy aunt, uncle or third cousin? Well, I have a crazy family…. You know how everyone has a crazy aunt, uncle or third cousin? Well, I have a crazy family. Now, I always suspected that some members of my immediate family weren’t the brightest stars in the sky, but my suspicions were confirmed the summer before I left for college.

I spent the day shopping with my mom. Arriving home in the early evening, I carried the spoils of the shopping war up the flight of stairs to my attic-turned-bedroom. Without a free hand to turn on the light, I paused at the top of my bedroom stairs when I heard a distinct flapping of wings near my head.

“Dear God, please let that be a butterfly,” ran through my mind.

I flung my new clothes onto my bed and hit the light switch. My worst fear had been brought to life: There was a bat in my bedroom.

I made it down the stairs to my living room in record time, considering my lung capacity was being used primarily for shrill screams.

After I gained my composure I told my dad what happened. He jumped out of his recliner and yelled:

“Well, did you shut the door?!” I didn’t know it was imperative to contain the beast in my bedroom. In fact, I’d rather the bat be anywhere but my bedroom.

While my dad and I paced downstairs, considering a plan of action, mom sat, knitting something that appeared to be a sweater that could warm someone against the iciest arctic winds of the tundra – in the middle of August.

After an hour or so, I took a snack break. Hey, even in the midst of crisis, a girl’s got to eat. As I sat down to take a bite of my perfectly built turkey sandwich, the phone rang.

“Jess? You may want to go outside and see what your dad is doing.”

I then realized it was my neighbor across the street. Taking his advice, I walked out the door, and noticed a small crowd gathering on the sidewalk. I walked around to the side of my house to one of the most disturbing sights I had ever seen.

There was my father, beginning to climb a 40-foot ladder that he had propped against the side of the house, towing a .22 hunting rifle in his right hand.

I watched in shock and disbelief as he reached my third-story bedroom window, opened it, took aim – and missed. After several more failed attempts, he looked down at the crowd and shrugged.

“Well, I tried.”

He then climbed back down, put the ladder and rifle away and gave up. He waved to our neighbors and walked inside, plopped down in the recliner and turned on his favorite show, “The O.C.” Mom was still knitting.

It may be hard to believe, but at one point in time my parents did have problem-solving skills. And decent ones, at that. I guess after raising three children in a two-bedroom house, anyone would be kind of kooky.

As the youngest of these three children, I have had to learn to handle situations like the bat incident tactfully.

And, as many babies of the family know, it is best to sit back and become the silent observer. Watch what your older siblings get caught doing and get in trouble for, then do the same down the road without getting caught.

Oh yeah, and tell on your older siblings at any opportunity you get, because they will tell embarrassing stories about your potty-training at your wedding. So you have to strike while the iron is hot.

So, what happened to the bat? About an hour or so after my parents gave up, my older brother – who hates all winged beings – arrived home. I threatened to tell on him for something or another if he didn’t get the devil bird out of my room.

He donned a hooded sweatshirt, duct taped the sleeves around his wrists – so the bat wouldn’t fly up them – grabbed a fishing net and headed up the stairs. In approximately 30 seconds, he caught the bat in the net and released it out of my window and back into the wild.

I’m fairly certain I still told on him, but he did help to make my parents crazy. But now that I think about it, I’ll never forget how the only things that kept me warm in my first Oakland winter were the hat, mittens and scarf that my mom knitted for me. So In the end, lack of neurons and all, family is still family.

No bats were harmed in the making of this column. E-mail Jessica about your crazy family at jrp32@pitt.edu.