Uncles were our father's brothers. Aunties were our father's sisters and mothers of friends. They reached for high jars and brought down the biscuits when they felt like. They told us not to touch walls and stand straight and remain presentable. In revenge - though we didn't know it then - we called them aunty or uncle, each utterance wresting them away from their mental hold on a particular reflection of youth. The words, they are titles of some sort, change everything.
There are currently eight or nine kids wandering about my home for the next week. They touch walls and slouch and demand things. One of the brats is bound to call me uncle. The terror is mounting.