Happy Thanksgiving, Ya'll
I hate holidays.
I think they’re supposed to be about family harmony. I think that most people envision Thanksgiving as this dinner event where a beautiful nuclear family gathers to eat and commune. Well, that’s how I’d like to see it anyway.
Obviously, I’m not seeing my father for the holiday. You’d think living in the same city would be an obstacle, especially when you consider that this city has one very tiny mall, only 30,000 residents within city limits, and a very compact layout. However, it’s never been very difficult for me to avoid him. Though, I’d really like to see my sister Brittney, my brothers, and my father’s brother because I’m inviting them to my graduation. Going this close might be a little dangerous, but I’ll just have to brave the proximity and know that, if I do run into my father, I’m not responsible for my actions, or words…
However, I will be sharing Thanksgiving with
My twice-divorced mom,
My twice-divorced 40-year-old half-sister,
My sister’s new boyfriend and his two sons, ages 18 and 11,
My sister’s 20-year-old daughter, otherwise known as my niece,
My niece’s 1-year old son, also called my great-nephew, or more appropriately, my godson.
My handicapped older brother (who by the way, is awesome),
My nanny, or “godmother,” for you non-Southerners, also my mother’s sister and closest friend
My nanny’s 20-year old daughter, my college dropout cousin
My family is about as dysfunctional as you can get. But I’ve never known anything different, and I couldn’t imagine walking into a more love-filled home. Instead of ripping us apart, obstacles have only driven us together and have forced us to form more solid bonds. In the South, “blood is always thicker than water.”
I love living in a place where being someone’s “second half-cousin twice removed” makes you important to them.
There are a lot of things I grew up without; there are a lot of reasons I hate going home, and there are a lot of reasons I never bring people home to visit. There’s a lot wrong with my family, with Houma, with the South in general.
But when I finally get there, when I finally walk through that door… all of that melts away. I’m home, I fit, and even though they can’t understand me, people accept me… because I belong.
I think they’re supposed to be about family harmony. I think that most people envision Thanksgiving as this dinner event where a beautiful nuclear family gathers to eat and commune. Well, that’s how I’d like to see it anyway.
Obviously, I’m not seeing my father for the holiday. You’d think living in the same city would be an obstacle, especially when you consider that this city has one very tiny mall, only 30,000 residents within city limits, and a very compact layout. However, it’s never been very difficult for me to avoid him. Though, I’d really like to see my sister Brittney, my brothers, and my father’s brother because I’m inviting them to my graduation. Going this close might be a little dangerous, but I’ll just have to brave the proximity and know that, if I do run into my father, I’m not responsible for my actions, or words…
However, I will be sharing Thanksgiving with
My twice-divorced mom,
My twice-divorced 40-year-old half-sister,
My sister’s new boyfriend and his two sons, ages 18 and 11,
My sister’s 20-year-old daughter, otherwise known as my niece,
My niece’s 1-year old son, also called my great-nephew, or more appropriately, my godson.
My handicapped older brother (who by the way, is awesome),
My nanny, or “godmother,” for you non-Southerners, also my mother’s sister and closest friend
My nanny’s 20-year old daughter, my college dropout cousin
My family is about as dysfunctional as you can get. But I’ve never known anything different, and I couldn’t imagine walking into a more love-filled home. Instead of ripping us apart, obstacles have only driven us together and have forced us to form more solid bonds. In the South, “blood is always thicker than water.”
I love living in a place where being someone’s “second half-cousin twice removed” makes you important to them.
There are a lot of things I grew up without; there are a lot of reasons I hate going home, and there are a lot of reasons I never bring people home to visit. There’s a lot wrong with my family, with Houma, with the South in general.
But when I finally get there, when I finally walk through that door… all of that melts away. I’m home, I fit, and even though they can’t understand me, people accept me… because I belong.