As is the case with a lot of family events, no one seems to remember exactly what year our family summer gatherings at the lake started.

It happens. Years start to run together. Kids are born, they grow up, and the next thing you know, you’re sitting around a table somewhere with relatives trying to figure out where your hair went.

All I know for sure is that my brothers and sisters and I have been gathering at my Uncle Jim and Aunt Ev’s house at Lake of the Ozarks for “a while.”

I seem to remember that my brother Mark’s daughters — Sarah and Leah — were close to my 10-year-old daughter Emma’s age when the first get-together took place. Sarah graduated several years ago from Wichita State University and is married now. Leah just graduated from the Air Force Academy. So I’m thinking the lake get-togethers have been going on for a while.

Not all of my brothers and sisters manage to make every reunion. Some might miss one because they live far away, some because of other family obligations and some because of statute of limitation issues.

Ha.

But, normally, enough of us make it to turn Jim and Ev’s house into one long, loud, funny, profane, disrespectful, nostalgic, mocking, teasing, insulting, praising, laughing, yelling, boating, sleeping, baseball-watching, kid-wrangling, beer-guzzling, barbecue-eating frenzy.

And that’s just on Friday. Things really pick up on Saturday.

We have fun at the reunion. We like to make fun of whichever brother or sister didn’t make it to the reunion. We like to make fun of whichever brother or sister slept in and isn’t around to defend himself or herself at breakfast. We like to make fun of whichever brother or sister is sitting across from us at breakfast.

We like to make fun of each other, is what I’m saying.

Emma wasn’t born when the lake reunions started. Neither were her younger cousins, Kelly and Melanie. Her other cousin, Brenna, was just a baby at the first summer bash. I think she was. Like I said, the years sort of run together.

I do have vivid memories of those reunions, despite the fact that they sort of blur together. I remember Brenna, who couldn’t have been much more than 2, laughing while I drained a cooler full of ice water, letting some of the water trickle off her hand.

I remember looking at Emma, sitting in her mom’s lap, during her first boat ride. I remember the way she grinned while the wind brushed over her face. I remember, years later, Emma bugging my wife and me to let her go tubing the first year that Brenna went tubing. I remember saying no.

I remember the first year Emma did go tubing — I had to go with her. As we climbed into the tube, I remember thinking, “I’m too old for this *&%$.”

But Emma loved it, so I did too.