Cringe events. We all have them, right? I am definitely no stranger to them. And I think most people get kind of defensive in the aftermath, right? Nobody likes revisiting those occasions, do they? If you do, let’s talk, because I’m super curious about that kind of outlook on life.

But part of storytelling is digging into that junk, right? So here’s an awkward moment.

Growing up, we would take vacations that involved visiting family. We all lived kind of far apart, and these interactions were not particularly frequent. As a result, when these visits did occur, they tended to last too long and everyone got on everyone else’s nerves. I think I sort of had it imprinted on me that it wasn’t officially a family visit until my couch potato dad had gone into hiding by reading a book in the living room and my hyperactive mom had gone angerball on him for not helping with family activities and pretty much ignoring all the people we had driven 2,000 miles to see. Since we only ever visited my mom’s family, I grew up under the impression that my dad was the antisocial outlier and the way you were supposed to behave as a guest was to jump in and be useful. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I realized other families actually did just sit around reading and watching TV rather than cooperating on yard work or pitching in on scrubbing out kitchen cabinets. I have yet to meet a family that spends a week on outings and planning touristy things, although I aspire to that on my better days.

My mother’s family was also extremely direct. If you did something stupid and someone saw, there wasn’t a lot of “Oh my,” and looking the other way. It was more, “Wow, that was pretty dumb of you!” humiliation with an instant chaser of “OK, now let’s fix it” good-natured education. (Unless the audience was my grandfather. In that case, the reaction was almost always, “NO NO NO! Get out of the way, you moron, I can do it faster myself.” And he could, and he did. And sometimes you learned how to do it right and sometimes you learned to tell him, “I’m a moron, remember? You do it.” The funny thing about my grandfather was that he always accosted you directly but praised you through channels. I had to find out from my aunt that I was a competent genius. And my cousin had to find out from me that she was a fantastic and resilient hospitality pro.)

Anyway, this pattern continued into adulthood, and the aggravation got worse as the family got bigger. My dad got allies in my cousins and my husband, but my dad had shifted a bit and was now among the doers. My dad, always a chatty guy, also got less diplomatic as he aged, and he became less inclined to roll along with guests like Ben Franklin’s fish.

But he never called anyone out directly. Instead, what he liked to do was waylay someone (usually on their way to do something) in a (usually rather public) hallway and vent in a whisper-yell about whoever was doing whatever. Most of the time, he would be placated with a smile and an eyeroll; sometimes it would take a nod, but then it was over and he’d start rebuilding his head of steam until he had to blow it off again to someone else in some other hallway.

I walked up on him doing this to my mom about me, my husband, and my kid on various occasions, but these were not particularly awkward moments. I knew he was the way he was; I could read him well enough to perceive his annoyance; and usually I either agreed with him and hadn’t gotten around to working it out yet or I figured it was a Him Problem more than a Me One and sailed on by.

But then there was the time that he cornered me in a hallway and railed about my “So! Stupid!” relative who was in the next room—and whose father walked like fog on little cat feet and came upon us just as I was nodding and going, “Yeah, I know. Very stupid.” And then my dad and I both just stood there slack jawed and redfaced as Relative’s Dad gave us the side eye, stuck his chin out a little, and kept on walking. To this day, I am not entirely sure whether RD even heard us, whether he in fact agreed with us, or whether he actually did mean to shut us up. All three are possible; they are not even mutually exclusive.

But it is moments such as these that have left me convinced that it is much better to do things my grandfather’s way. Be direct. Be clear. Get it out and over with. You might still have an awkward moment, but it will be over faster and you can get to the “OK, now let’s talk about all your good stuff” part faster.

Unless, of course, you are dealing with a newly acquired significant other of your offspring. All bets are off in those scenarios. You gotta give those folks a chance to assimilate before you make them a member of the family in that way!