Howling at the Moon: A Family Tradition

When I was about four years old, my teenage uncles...14 and 17 at the time...thought it was the greatest idea in the world to teach me how to howl at the moon like a wolf. (Because what else are teenage boys good for if not stirring up mischief and turning their niece into the neighborhood’s pint-sized lunatic-in-training?)

So, picture it: a big Texas sky, a fat glowing moon, and all of us out in the yard, heads thrown back, howling like a pack of maniacs. Between the howls, there was always that contagious, joyful laughter...the kind that made my sides ache and left us breathless, swearing we’d just pulled off the best trick the moon had ever heard. And of course, I thought I was so cool. Forget Barbie dolls or tea parties...this girl could communicate with the moon.

Fast forward a couple of decades. Before I even had kids of my own, I was working as a nanny in Potomac, Maryland. And you better believe I taught my charges how to howl at the moon too. I mean, why keep this talent bottled up in Texas when I could spread the wolf knowledge across the U.S.?

Then came my thirties, and motherhood. Naturally, I knew it was my solemn duty to pass this incredible skill on to my boys. You can’t just let something this legendary die with one generation. So there we were, me in my thirties, them still in footie pajamas, tiny werewolves in training, making the neighbors question their life choices as we serenaded the night sky.

And now? Now I’m in my fifties and a grandmother. Which means I have an obligation, a responsibility, really, to keep the tradition alive. My grandsons must know the joy of howling at the moon. They must feel the thrill of tilting their heads back, belting out their best wolf impression, then collapsing into giggles that echo in the night air...just like I once did with my uncles. Watching them howl and laugh until their little bellies shake, while their mom rolls her eyes and I whisper, “Shhh, this is important family heritage,” is about as good as it gets.

Because here’s the truth: not all traditions are fancy or Instagram-worthy. Some are a little ridiculous, a lot loud, and entirely unforgettable. And if my legacy is that three generations of kids can howl at the moon without shame...well, I’ll take it.

So next full moon? Step outside, throw your head back, and give it your best wolf. Go on...your neighbors were looking for a reason to talk about you anyway. And just so you know, my grandsons already out-howl me… which feels both unfair and exactly the way it should be.