“Make sure your story stays clean and true.”

It’s a line my grandmother used to say at every family get-together, usually while shooing someone out of her kitchen or refereeing a heated game of dominoes on her porch. As a kid, I thought she was talking about the dishes. You know, avoid the kind of casserole-spilling disaster that starts family feuds or stains your favorite Sunday dress. But now, as an adult, I realize she meant something bigger. In a family of big talkers, storytellers, and dramatists (some hired by the Nashville music scene, some just enthusiastic hobbyists), stories aren’t just entertainment—they’re currency, legacy, and sometimes a badge of pride we hand down like the family quilt.

Growing up in East Nashville, I lived in a house where music and stories were inseparable. My dad played guitar in a country band that never quite hit the big time but had a loyal crowd at the local honky-tonk, and my mom taught music with the passion of someone who believed every child was one song away from genius. But the real headliner in our family? The stories.

The tall tales, the funny twists, and even the occasional PG-13 scandal shaped how I see relationships today. Romance, trust, heartbreak, and resilience lived in every song we adored, but they also lived in the family lore spun during humid summer nights on our front porch. Here’s how those stories taught me that love—and life—can sometimes be stranger than fiction.

The Best Way to Start a Story Is With a Bang (or a Biscuit)

My grandfather always said that if you’re going to tell a story, you need to grab attention by the throat right out of the gate. This is the same man who allegedly won my grandmother over by tossing a homemade biscuit at her feet at a church picnic—less romantic gesture, more impressive athleticism. According to her, he said something like, “If it’s not the best biscuit you’ve ever had, I’ll let you throw one at me.”

Reader, it was the best biscuit she’d ever had. She didn’t throw anything, but she did marry him two years later.

That simple lesson—lead with confidence, even when it’s messy—has stuck with me. Relationships are messy, full of fumbled starts and sideways pitches. Sometimes the best way to show someone you care isn’t flowers or serenades (although I’ve been known to appreciate both). It’s giving them a reason to laugh. Tossing a figurative biscuit, if you will.

It’s the reason I always encourage my friends to bring their quirkiest truth into early dates. Why hide the things that make you uniquely sharp or silly? Whether it’s your obsession with '90s rom-coms or the fact that you once trained a pet parrot to recite country song lyrics, let your biscuit-throwing energy shine through. Maybe it’ll land, maybe it won’t, but at least you’ll know you swung for the fences.

The Art of Embellishment (But Keep It Honest)

Now, this one gets a little tricky. In my family, there was a fine line between storytelling and outright fibbing. We had an unspoken rule: build it up, sure, but don’t build something that’ll topple like a bad Jenga tower when somebody asks too many questions.

For example, my cousin Greg still swears he was nearly bitten by a cottonmouth snake while fishing near Old Hickory Lake. The rest of us know the snake in question was probably a shoelace stuck on some driftwood. But bless his heart, Greg sticks to his version, complete with wide eyes and an exaggerated hand gesture people now mimic when retelling the story.

In love and relationships, I’ve learned you don’t need to oversell yourself to make an impression. You’re already the main character of your story. Sure, highlight the moments and qualities that make your life vivid—your epic solo trip to Asheville or your impressive rendition of Dolly Parton’s "Jolene" during karaoke—but you don’t need to conjure life-threatening snakes or exaggerated heroics. The truth, when told sincerely, has a way of being even more impactful than a tall tale.

Every Love Song Has a Bridge

My parents loved each other, but they weren’t perfect. Their arguments were like classic country duets—full of miscommunication, stubborn choruses, and occasional poetic insults (I once heard my mom call my dad a "two-bit Jack Daniels cowboy" because he put ketchup on her homemade cornbread). What struck me, though, was how they always found their way back to each other. My mom called it “the bridge.” She used to say, “A good song always has a bridge to keep it steady. Same with us.”

Here’s the thing about stories we don’t talk about enough: they don’t just need exciting beginnings and satisfying endings. They need something to hold them together when things get murky. In relationships, that bridge might be forgiveness, compromise, or the ability to laugh in the middle of a fight over dumpling wrappers at the store. If you’ve got a bridge strong enough to weather the squalls, you’ll be able to keep singing, so to speak.

So the next time you’re in a disagreement with a partner or friend, ask yourself: What’s the bridge we can build here? Maybe it’s something as simple as saying, “Hey, I messed up,” or ordering takeout to put the argument on pause. Find your way back to the melody that brought you together.

Traditions Tie the Bow on Life’s Messiest Packages

One thing I’ll say about my family is that we are fiercely loyal to our traditions. Every Christmas morning, we eat gooey cinnamon rolls while my dad plays Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas.” On birthdays, we slap the frosting into a scrapbook-worthy mess because it’s “not a party until someone wears the icing,” as my Aunt Jean likes to say. These small, seemingly silly traditions have a way of keeping us grounded—even when life throws curveballs.

In relationships, adopting traditions—big or small—is like creating your own private library of memories. Maybe it’s a Sunday pancake ritual with a partner or an annual wine-and-pizza night with your best friend. Build the story of your bond in a way that feels joyful and uniquely yours.

Because if there’s one thing my family has taught me, it’s this: even the most chaotic story is better when it’s wrapped in the warmth of shared moments.

How Grandma’s Wisdom Still Rings True

A few years ago, at one of those sprawling family reunions where the iced tea flows like a river and you’re guaranteed to leave with half a dozen bug bites, I asked my grandma what she really meant by “Keep your story clean and true.” She smiled and said, “Just keep it sweet enough that someone still wants to hear it again.”

Whether with family, friends, or romantic partners, the goal isn’t to produce some epic tale worthy of a Hollywood script. It’s to create connections and moments worth passing along. Stories told with honesty and heart have a way of sticking around—and sometimes, if they’re lucky, they even make a room full of strangers laugh so hard, somebody snorts through the end of “Happy Birthday.”

Grandma had it right all along. Keep your story clean, keep it true, but most importantly, keep it yours.