Cooking has never really been my thing.

You can usually find me at family cookouts or kickbacks acting as the vibe curator, the person responsible for keeping the laughter going and the Uno cards shuffled, and mixing the drinks and playing DJ from the aux cord. In effect, keeping the party going.

But this summer I took my run at the grill.

And I became a part of the latest social media trend: “Be a man this summer. Light up the grill, not the hookah.”

Suddenly, mid-30-year-olds like me are the new uncles and aunties. I am among millennial men being pulled away from overpriced brunches and day parties to more mature family functions. It’s a rite of passage.

But working the grill was not easy. I turned to my younger brother via FaceTime several times for moral support.

“Okay, bro, last question. I know I called you three times already, but how many minutes on each side should I let them smoke?” I hesitantly asked Sean.

Sean is way more patient than me. He has loved to cook since we were kids. Sean would make the best PB&J sandwiches. I was never a fan of PB&J sandwiches, but when Sean made them he made them taste like a gourmet meal.

Eventually, his love for cooking helped him earn the trust of cooks in the family, especially our late grandmother and great-grandmother, who didn’t play about their kitchen.

“No worries, bro, let ’em sit,” he explained. “Seven minutes on each side if you want medium rare. We don’t do well done,” Sean said, laughing.

Standing over that grill as Sean coached me was a big step for me — a step that, if I’m honest, I’m proud of.

“Do these look done enough?” I asked in a rookie-like tone.

Sean gave his final approval as I transferred the lamb chops from the grill to a dinner plate. “See, that wasn’t bad, was it?” he said as I drizzled garlic butter over the top. I felt like Bobby Flay as my sister, my family’s toughest critic, ate three chops.

All I could do was smile, not because I cooked but because I stood up to the internet challenge, which, in my eyes, tests family traditionalism.

Lately, I’ve been turning my attention away from social media trends because, one, I’m too old to be easily swayed, and, two, internet trends fade quickly.

But this cultural “dare” hits different for me this time and, in many ways, serves as a wake-up call for guys my age.

Seeing elders, family members and even cousins in my age group grow older has been humbling. From that viewpoint, I’ve realized that people in my age group shouldn’t just ask where the cookouts are. We should be hosting them or at least helping with planning them.

Somewhere along the line, the obligation and enthusiasm for family functions have faded. But we must rewrite the narrative, because family cookouts and functions sustain our traditions. They remind us that, before social media, there was a time when families gathered in the spirit of simply gathering, no matter what the holiday was. Uncles sweating over the grill, cousins playing tag around the yard and grown-ups locked in playing spades is enough nostalgia for us to reclaim family traditions.

Family cookouts can bring healing. Food and fun may not heal every dispute, but they sure are an opportunity for bonding and intervention. It’s hard to hate someone when the food is really good and good music is playing really loudly.

I have seen a surge in family cookouts in my circle and that has been exciting, but the truth remains that, for my generation, family responsibilities are shifting. We are now the hosts, planners and gatherers of our tribe.

We are the bridge between traditions and members of a younger generation who need to know who they are and where they come from. We are the next keepers of family recipes, stories and traditions that are passed from one generation to the next through cookouts.

So let’s rent out pavilions, light up a grill and do whatever it takes to keep the family close.