The Thundering Herd

When the big kids were little, we had a little house on Westminister in Jackson, MI. When Mom called the kids and the Dad for dinner, the pitter-patter of little feet was heard heading toward the kitchen. As the kids grew and we moved to a house large enough to hold us all, the pitter-patter gave way to stomping and crashing. It was not nearly as cute.

I don't remember the exact day, but we lived in Marshall, when the term "The Thundering Herd" was coined. I called out that dinner was ready and almost immediately, the sound from the fartherest reaches of the house could be heard, like a low rumble. Then the feet hit the wooden stairs in the front of the house and the sound became a loud roar. Always accompanying this sound was the voices of the ones in the back of the pack. I don't remember the words, but it seemed as though the hungriest of the bunch ended up at the back of the pack. Don't know why or how. Making the turn from the stairs into the dining room brought more tumult as there was a bit of a bottleneck at the doorway. Inevitably, someone would fall, hit the door frame, or otherwise be squeezed to the back.

I remember considering lessons on how to come when the group was called, but I just could not bring myself to do it.