There Are No Rules In Family

There are so many choices in the world today. You can choose where you live, where you work, what you do, and who you are; those are all up to you. Few things in life are not an option. Today even your hair color, eye color, and your name are your choice. But the one thing you can’t seem to permanently wipe off your shoes is your family. You can get emancipated, you can run, but unfortunately you can never really hide. Somehow, some way, they always find you in the end.
During your first days with your family, they seem totally normal. This is generally because you are an infant, or a new spouse. The odd habits, the skeletons in the closets, they usually wait a few weeks, months, years to surface. They take their time to rear their ugly heads. First, they have to hook you, use the eye candy to capture your soul. Once they have, you’re screwed for life. Forever you are stuck with your kleptomaniac aunt, your manic grandma, your enraged father, your epileptic mother, your alcoholic uncle, your brainwashed sister, cousins, grandfather. And only time will tell what your resulting psychological effects will be. But as longs as you stick around, share the love. After all we are blood.
Standing on the inside of this screwed up life, this is normal. This is what everyone experiences, right? See, this is where you are wrong. Not everyone is lucky enough to have both their mother and father present in their life. Even if all he ever does is push you into walls or she screams how much you suck– you could do better. At least they’re still together, right? It’s love, and I can’t wait to find it one day!
I don’t know which is worse, not noticing how screwed up your family is or truly loving every minute of it. Coming from a mentally disturbed family automatically give you a higher risk for “disabilities” or mental handicaps. It’s highly possible that you too are mentally disturbed. After all, you’d have to be completely blind, and deaf, to not notice the irregularities in your family. Even through all the drama– do you swear that you didn’t take money from my checking account? – you still possess a bond with them that just can’t be broken. Not even by a large dose of your grandma’s antidepressants and some of your uncle’s vodka.
Sitting at a dining room table with these people is a real event. It’s like supper time at the psych ward. You prepare a meal salted with Grandma’s tears and the pepper your aunt stole from your house. Your father can’t believe your aunt broke into his house once again, and how many times does he have to change the locks, so he storms out and isn’t seen again until you are about to go to bed. You ask your mom to hand you the pan of rolls, then ten minutes later, she responds with the pitcher of tea– don’t blame her, it’s her medication. Isn’t this dinner nice since your uncle isn’t here to spoil the evening? Then the phone rings. “I’m going to kill you all,” his drunken voice bellows from the other end of the phone. Isn’t he a nice addition to the family?
Still every night, despite the theatrics and all the debates on which hotel you should move into, you return home to this circus. You love these people because they are the only ones that love you. And that’s all anybody wants in this world– to be loved.
Please pass the mashed potatoes-

Jessica D. Hunt