There are some stories and phrases that somehow make such an impression that they live on in families for generations — occasionally becoming such a part of family lore that they are repeated by people not even born during the original event.

One such moment happened years before I was born. My grandpa and his daughters (one being my mom) had all piled into their Willys Wagon Jeep to head higher up the mountain.

My mom was just a little girl at the time, and doesn’t remember if they were on their way to check cows, build fence or go huckleberry picking. What she does recall, though, is what happened first. It’s colored our family tapestry for most of her life and all of mine.

Grandpa Rayl (my great-grandfather) came out of the house about the time they were leaving and walked over to the driver’s side door to talk to his son (my grandpa.) As their conversation wrapped up, Grandpa Rayl stepped back (apparently with only one foot) and my grandfather put the Jeep in gear and started to drive away, not noticing the small, nearly imperceptible bump he’d rolled over.

He did not miss, however, the sudden and rapid stream of blue words that filled the air from where Grandpa Rayl stood — so he backed up over that small, nearly imperceptible bump again to find out what the problem was. Needless to say, the air continued to be blue for a while.

That story has become woven into the fabric of the entire family — aunts, cousins and siblings. “Want me to run over it again?”

Another moment that shaped our vernacular wasn’t even very memorable — until after it happened.

A bunch of us cousins were hanging out, just being silly, when one of the girls made a joke that fell so flat it would have run competition at IHOP. To this day, no one even remembers what the joke was — it was just really, really dumb.

There was a long, silent pause. Then, to fill the void, she flipped her lovely blond hair and said matter-of-factly, “I thought it would be funny.”

To which we all just roared. And it stuck — and has been repeated hundreds of times in hundreds of different awkward situations. If she’d said it first, I’m sure my grandpa would have said it when he ran over his father’s foot — twice.

Another phrase that has woven itself into the tapestry was uttered by my husband: “That dead guy?”

Years ago, when our oldest was 2, we had the opportunity to visit Graceland. My husband wasn’t excited at all, but it wasn’t until the end of the day that I understood why.

While standing in a room filled with his stage outfits and gold records, my husband leans over and asks if this was the house of a singer. I wasn’t sure what to say beyond, “Yes … Elvis.” He then followed it up with a question: “That dead guy?”

My niece (who wasn’t born at the time of the Graceland incident) was chatting with my dad this year, and as naturally as possible, slides “that dead guy?” into their conversation. Some fibers are embedded deeply into family legacy.

Another story happened to the “I thought it would be funny” cousin, when she was a little girl.

She was in the car with my grandma, driving on the gravel road near their home in Medical Springs, when my grandma saw a rattlesnake on the road. My grandma swerved to hit it — then backed up and ran over it again … and again …and again … and again. She then drove home, got a shovel, chopped off its head and buried it.

Never one to waste a good object lesson, she told my cousin about how even things that seem harmless can still hurt you. Much like the venom in a rattlesnake can still kill you even after it’s dead. So it’s always best to avoid evil when you can, because you just don’t know what kind of harm it can do. Feeling quite pleased with herself, she asked my cousin if she understood.

My cousin, with wide, innocent eyes, nodded her head. “Yes,” she said, “if I ever see a rattlesnake, I’m coming to get you and not grandpa!”