“No,” says Jacob authoritatively, “Ninjas would defeat pirates. Because pirates are always drunk.”

“Are you kidding,” Tyler jumps in, disgusted, “Pirates have entire fleets. They have cannons. Pirates would defeat ninjas.”

If you were a few tables down from us at the bar, you’d think we were discussing religion or politics. The way we gestured magnanimously. The way our voices rose. You’d think fists were moments away from being thrown. You’d think someone had insulted someone’s mother.

But no, the topic my two brothers and I are discussing is ninjas and pirates. Fictional characters.

“They are not fictional!”

“I’m pretty sure the way we think of them, they’re fictional.”

“Dude, Pirates of the Carribean was based on real shit that happened.”

“You’re thinking of Good Will Hunting.”

I should say, none of us are twelve. We’re in our twenties. We have college degrees.

Whether it’s in our nature or our nurture, my family loves to argue. Mostly we avoid the topics that lead to real altercations: religion, politics, whether drinking a cocktail with a pineapple in it makes you gay. But this low hum of constant bickering is how we communicate. We say I love you by saying, “You’re crazy if you think Batman Forever is the best Batman movie.”

It doesn’t matter what the topic is. It will be discussed with a insistant, knowing belligerence.  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU LIKE CHICKEN MORE THAN STEAK!? YOU ARE NOT A REAL MAN!”

Here at week two of my 3.5 visit back home, I’m reminded everyday how weirdly awesome everyone in my family is. We’re all crazy, to be sure. But it’s good crazy. It’s not Virginia Wolf Crazy (though there is a bit of that), it’s more like, Big Bad Wolf Crazy. We’re all, dressing up like grandma to fool Little Red Riding Hood, whom my brother Jacob is dating.

Let me explain.

This was my Facebook status yesterday evening:

So… Jacob’s bringing his girlfriend over to my parent’s house for the first time. I convinced everyone to wear ridiculous costumes for the occasion… it’s a test… this makes me very happy.

And with 45 likes, this apparently made a lot of people very happy.

And if Facebook allowed me to give 100 likes. I would give 10 to Savage Garden (greatest band ever), but the other 90 to my family. Because they are the type of people where conversations like this are a reality.

Luke: Guys, let’s all dress rediculous to embarass Jacob when he gets here with his girlfriend.

Family: We’re in.

And then, Jacob, when he arrived said nothing short of, “Why didn’t you tell me we were wearing costumes? I would have brought my sombrero.”

And as we ate my mom’s homemade pizza, we felt like kings. Well Mary did, because she was dressed like one. Isaac felt like a clown. Teresa felt like a hippie. Jason, Jacob and I had a cowboy thing going on. My dad, felt like a Mexican. My mom, an 19th century dollymop. John felt like Santa. But not just any old Santa, he was dressed as serial-killer Santa. He’d still leave you presents, but he might do some murdering on the side.

The night took some lovely turns, when afterwards the “older” kids headed to a bar, to discuss important issues such as whether or not a person could be both a ninja and a pirate.