The story that my family tells about me again and again takes place when I was a little over the age of three. My grandpa used to babysit me while my parents were at work. One day while I was at my grandparent's house, my grandpa forgot to give me lunch. Eventually I became aware of my hunger and I asked my grandpa for "yunch." Being a little girl I could not pronounce my "L's" and this thoroughly confused my grandpa. "Yunch?" He asked, "What is that?" I continued on asking for yunch and my grandpa continued to be baffled. Until finally I took my grandpa's hand, led him into the kitchen, stood him in front of the refrigerator and pointed, "YUNCH!" This cleared up the confusion and subsequently I received my lunch.
Stories are told for a number of reasons, to teach, to entertain, to leave a legacy. I believe that my family tells this story for entertainment. The situation in itself is amusing; my grandpa, a stoic old man and me, a young playful kid attempting to coexist. And I believe my family likes the thought of this a lot. Sometimes they don't bother telling the whole story, but just say the word, "yunch." Which is met with much laughter. When they do tell the entire story, they add voices and movement-efforts that show that they treasure the story.
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