|
|
|
Family --
8-24-04
|
amily -- you can't live with them. Yeah.
This weekend was an exercise in loving blindly and
unconditionally. I now know, without a doubt, that despite my family's
weirdness, bitchiness, and down right fucked up nature, I wouldn't trade
them for any other dysfunction in the world.
Take THE BABY SHOWER, for example.
Step-Sister is the youngest of the six children in my family. She
is due to have her first child next month. Her mother and my step-father
were divorced long before my mom came into the picture. Yet G, Step-sister's
mother, made life miserable for my mother as often as she could.
She deprived Step-Dad of visitation. She convinced Step-Sister that
he had been abusive to her. Later, she convinced Step-Sister that
my mother was the reason that she and Step-Dad were no longer together
(she apparently forgot that she had run off with her sister-in-law's husband).
In any case, there were many years of ugliness,
which, theoretically, should be well behind us by now. If my family
were normal.
I drove to Foster Sister's house to pick up her
and T, her 11 year old daughter. They rode with me, while my mother
rode with Sister and H, her 14 month old daughter. Our two sisters-in-law,
our brother's wives, were conveniently left off of the guest list.
As we drove to the shower, Foster Sister was joking about how ugly this
would be, with my mom and Step-Sister's mom in the same room together.
I told her that I wasn't really that worried.
My mother's aunt can be just as nasty as anyone else. I then proceeded
to tell her about younger brother's wedding, when I was greeted by Great
Aunt saying, "man, you've gotten fat." Foster Sister laughed nervously.
When we arrived at the shower, I sat down next to
Step-Grandmother. I'm not fond of this woman. She refused to
allow us to call her "Grandma" when we were children. She referred
to us as "those kids," and told my step-cousin that she should not hang
around with me, because I was a bad influence. (I carried a 3+ GPA,
never got into trouble, never tried alcohol or drugs).
Now that I'm a college graduate, with a successful
career, Step-Grandma acts as if she had some influence over it. She's
so proud of me. It's an effort not to crack her aged, balding skull
like the coconut it looks like.
Step-Grandma was in rare form. She'd lean
into me as each person passed, remarking on the shape of their butt or
how much weight they'd gained. When Foster-Sister came in she said,
"I don't feel so bad, now, Foster Sister. You've gained a lot more
weight than I have." Foster Sister laughed stiffly.
When my sister ran outside chasing H, Step-Grandma
leaned into me again and said, "Man, she's put on some weight. I
guess having kids'll do that to you." I tried to be respectful.
Through all of this, G, Step-Sister's mother, was
actually rather pleasant. She was a bit syrupy, but nothing I wouldn't
have expected considering I'm sure she was nervous to be the only one in
her camp in a room full of our camp.
But, again, Step-Grandma had to open her mouth.
She looked at my mother and said, "You're right, she has gotten fat!" loud
enough that we all heard her. I don't know if G heard, but my mother
turned beet red.
Not to be outdone, my sister decided to put on her
bitch hat. H had dumped the dog's bowl and sat in it, soaking her
shorts thoroughly. As my sister scolded her, G, in an attempt to
be friendly said, "aw, Mom, it's hot. You could wet my shorts."
To this, my sister replied coolly, "no, thanks. You're really not
my type."
G was not amused, and I was stunned. I can
be ballsy, but I'm generally not just blatantly rude.
That was Saturday. On Sunday was THE YARD SALE.
Papa, my mother's step-dad who has been married
to her first cousin ever since my grandma was killed in a car accident,
called to tell us that they were having a yard sale at J's house.
J is my mother's other cousin.
Mom asked me if I would drive her over there, and
since I hadn't seen Papa in months, I happily agreed.
Papa, as I said, is my mother's step-dad.
He is, however, the only grandfather I've ever known, and has always
been exactly that to me. I love him so much just writing these sentences
is making me teary eyed. He's a good man.
When we arrived, Papa greeted us at the car.
We hugged and kissed and talked. He calls me "Sugar." S, his
wife, and my second cousin, was the next to greet us, followed soon by
J, who just waved. We pulled up chairs on the front porch and sat
there discussing the family dramas. Who's pregnant. Who's on
drugs. Who's getting a divorce. Who's getting married again.
Who's in jail.
Mom made certain to mention a few times that I'm
going to be attending Stanford University this Fall. O.k., I have
to admit, I like it when she brags about me.
Of course, Mom also had to share her psychic readings
from some online psychic chat that she goes to. These readings made
her feel so much better about her worries with regards to Niece, who's
on the train coming home, as I type this.
Papa and S nodded their heads dutifully. I
think they were trying not to laugh.
But lo and behold, who should arrive unexpectedly,
but that same great aunt who was so nasty to me at Younger Brother's wedding.
She hobbled down the sidewalk and up the porch, and we all hugged her just
like it was something pleasant to see.
In all honesty, I have to confess that despite the
fact that I really feel no emotion for this woman, There's really just
something awe-inspiring about being with your senior relatives, no matter
how nasty they are. So in that respect, it was nice to see her.
She was seated on the porch swing for about 4 minutes
before she announced, "Jesus Christ, J, you're getting fat."
Mom told me to go on and do the shopping and things
that I'd had planned for the day. She told me she'd have Papa bring
her home later. I arrived home before they did, even with all my
errands. I was sitting at my desk fiddling on my computer when Mom
came out and asked me if I'd help her bring in the stuff she brought home.
When I walked outside, I saw my Papa's truck backed
up to the garage. Everything that didn't sell was brought over and
dropped off.
Did I mention Mom's a packrat?
So, you see, they're nuts. They're rude.
They're weird. They're embarrassing. But they're mine.
And after 33 years, I don't know if I could take anything different. |
_
Click
here for a
Complete
Table of Contents
_
|