My family had this rule. Now, my family had odd ways of showing that we cared for one another. Most of the time, we doubted it altogether (or at least I did). But this one rule shows our deep and abiding and possibily incredibly misplaced love.

It’s the Rule of the Can.

See, we spent half of my childhood in the South. With the South comes thunderstorms–long, loud, harsh storms. During these storms, you’re supposed to stay away from water fixtures.

But they were LONG.

And when you gotta go, you gotta go. So, if you had to go, and while on the can you got hit by lightning, whoever found you was required to pull up your pants.

The only dignified thing to do.

I plan on continuing this tradition when I have a family of my own. Because really, that isn’t something that goes left unsaid.