And if you’re the youngest and are not having a lot of life experiences, forget holding court. My sister headlined most meals, with my mom as the gregarious emcee, and my dad featured with Dr. Pimple Popper–style derm stories of explosive boils and phantom itches. I was allowed a short guest set. My dad would set the egg timer for three minutes—like any good showroom runner—and that’s when I got more than a hundred seconds to grab my audience with some fifth-grade perspectives.
