Mom loved visitors, she would always welcome them into her home and treat them so well that they would end up overstaying their welcome. Once this happened, she would then look at me to help her make them leave. I had some tricks that always worked on older visitors, especially female ones: I would tell my siblings to complain about the visitor when they could hear us.

We would all say things like, “Remember back when there was always something to eat in the fridge? It was so nice, I wonder what happened,” or “Remember when I used to read books? It was so nice, but now I can’t read because this place is too noisy.”

It would take a little time and patience, but eventually the visitor would break and tell mom, “Your kids are disrespectful. They are saying rude things that are directed at me.”

Mom would then call a family meeting to ask us what we said and why we said it. We would then say that everything the visitor said that we said was true; things weren’t the same as they used to be. However, we would continue to be indirect about the cause of these changes.

At this point, the visitor would usually say something like “You know what? Maybe I should leave. Maybe things will return to normal when I’m gone,” expecting my mom to interject and punish us.

Instead of playing the pity game with the visitor, my mom would just smile and say “Okay, problem solved,” and the visitor would be so mad that they would immediately start packing.

Unlike all of those times, mom had no problem with Gift overstaying his welcome. She was his grandmother, and grandmothers are reputable for being super loving towards their grandchildren. I don’t even think she saw all the things that Gift was doing to make life more difficult. There was only one thing that had the potential to make mom throw Gift out of the house: his bad hand. He was reported by his mom’s family to have a bad hand, which meant that he stole.

I hated visitors, especially the ones that tried to stay forever, even if they were relatives. I was the type of guy who liked reading books and writing poetry, so I needed silence. Normally, I’d spend my afternoons reading or writing and Lars would spend his sketching, doing homework, or studying. But with Gift around, the house became too loud to do these things in peace. He talked too much, and he asked me questions about my habits of reading and writing that made me feel lame. I was Gift’s father’s brother and I was eight years older than him but he talked to me like I was his peer, he had no respect at all.

Tell us: Have you ever had someone overstay their welcome at your house?