Garden variety crazy, quasi-quirky or just sincerely infuriating, no family is immune from some form of domestic dysfunction. Grandma has her toddy and discloses tmi about her personal hygiene. Cousin Darlene completed probation for check kiting. Someone's brother chose to moon a state trooper before checking the gas gauge. Your mother tells everyone at the wedding rehearsal about the time you used your six-year-old penis as a ship's mast in the bath tub. Thanks to genetics and most importantly through no fault of your own, the entire cast and crew of your own familial Gilligan's Island belongs to you and is readily accessible through baggage claims. Some people choose to make the best of what they've got and approach the marginal family members with a fake-it-'til-you-make-it sense of humor. Others try to run, only to find that at Thanksgiving in particular, there's rarely anywhere to hide. Embrace or duck, whichever your preferred strategy, you are connected on an undeniably cellular level. Try to be kind. If that eludes you for any number of reasons, try for some entry level tolerance. Try to overlook the plaid-panted, weed-smoking, gravy-guzzling, marine-mouthed, soda-slurping, cheek-pinching, Jesus-preaching, coupon-clipping, gum-smacking twigs on the family Ficus. You just never know when you might need that kidney.