Every summer, the Anderson family would make the 14-hour trek from Illinois to Georgia to see Nani, the kids’ grandmother. And it would take precisely 14 hours. Brent’s dad is goal-oriented, as well as loyal to traditions. They would make two stops — the same two every year. Those were the only chances the kids (and the adults) had to use a restroom. Otherwise, the boys would pee in pop bottles, and the girls would use diapers. Even Brent’s mom would use a diaper.

As the family grew, so did the vehicle. They started in a sedan and progressed to a station wagon. The back seat of the station wagon that could flip up made for a nice privacy section when one of the girls had to make use of a diaper. Eventually, the Andersons bought a 15-passenger van. The kids — today numbering 11 — would alternate laying out, floor, seat, floor, seat to the back, where Brent’s dad had laid a piece of plywood on two legs on top of the spare tire, and a mattress on top of that. Brent remembers this as the best spot to lay; but his brother, Eric, remembers it as excessively hot and smelling of exhaust.

Brent’s parents adopted eight kids over the years. Brent, who was born first and is now third in line, remembers being invited into the decisions of welcoming each new brother or sister into the family. And though Brent’s dad often had four jobs at once, and food was tight enough that Brent’s parents put padlocks on the fridge and cabinets (until a friend of the younger siblings suggested they simply unscrew the hinges), the family was abundant in love.

Scrabble was the game of choice at Nani’s house. But the family didn’t play by the normal rules. You could say, “I think this is a word,” play your word, and then check it in the dictionary. There were no “challenges.” Of course, just verifying that it was a word wasn’t enough — the definition would be read aloud, so that everyone could learn. If you couldn’t think of any word to play — even one to check in the dictionary — you’d just turn your letters around so everyone could help.

Brage (the sister in line directly after Brent) was the most competitive. She would claim a triple-word score spot three moves before her turn, even sometimes convincing a sibling to remove their tiles.

Brage also acquired a deep Southern drawl within the first few days of a Georgia visit. She’d say, “Hay, Breant, wanna go fishun’?” Incredulous at her accent, he’d scream, “Stop that!” She’d slowly reply, “I. can’t. healp. it.”

(Thanks so much, Brent.)