Family. Isn’t there some quote that says, “God gave us family. Thank god we can choose our friends.” Well, I am not sure what I think about that. Because the thing is, that, for the most part, I choose to be friends with people I have a lot in common with. And this is wonderful. We can be English Majors and Tri Deltas together. Or travel. Or go for wildly interesting walks in the woods. Or just drink wine and chat. I understand what brought us together and I know why I have grown to love my friends.
Family love is so simple, it's confusing. It's so unconditional...so boundless.
We are so different. My dad likes business projects, my mom know everything about running a household (the details...like, easier ways to peel a tomato and where to hide her jewlery...things I don’t even think to think about...) my brother is a staunch conservative, determined to become a real estate mogul, my sister is hip, stylish and a total music buff.... and I am a rather confused volunteer in a third world country with one pair of jeans, three t-shirts and a very messy room. How could I ever express how appreciative I am for the chance to love this strange mix of individuals in an unconditional way I will never understand.
We took a family trip for the first time in over a year. To Colorado. Imagine, four HUGE overpackers, ski boots, skiis and my little carry-on size roller (And I am not trying to say here that I am above my familial counterpats here, because, as my sister pointed out to me, it’s just not socially acceptable in all countries to wear the same the same outfit every day) ... and five grown up asses crammed into a rental car. Two hours to Beaver Creek--nothing has changed since our childhood roadtrips except that Charlie's farts smell 15 years worse...as if something's been rotting in there over all these years.
I had forgotten how LOUD family is. Nicities fly out the window. Instead of trying to step around toes, we are on top of one another. Instead of trying to be pleasant, we complain as much as possible. Instead of trying to look presentable, my dad wears pink boxers over his blue long underwear. We yell while others are taking naps. We are impatient. COME ON! LET’S GO!!!!! But it is in a hilarious, loving way, I can’t explain. There is something so wonderful about being able to abandon all the everyday bullshit we go through to accommodatepeople who aren’t our family. To just not care what you look like...how you say things...to be able to be impatient and annoyed and say it outloud—LOUD. To have your sister tell you your outfit is ridiculous. And your brother tell you your ideology is annoying and unrreatlistic. To listen to your dad talk about housing developments you don’t find particularly interesting but somehow care deeply about because it is readily apparent how much it means to him. To watch your mother keep everything together...the tickets...the reservations...our sanity, even while she is sick and miserable, everything is seamless because of her.
I don’t know. It was wildly awesome. Yes, we bitch at each other and annoy one another. But how much fun we have! How much laughter!
We had, before I left, our carpet ripped up. Our white carpet in the formal living room, which my our little puppies had made something of a mess with their piddle. Mom suggested a Spill-Red-Wine on the carpet party. Permanent markers were brought out. Formal adieus, in the form of poetry, were scrawled on the carpet. Bodies were traced. Wine was spilled. Red, blue, green and the little yellow stains....like tie dye, definitely a little psychedelic.
There is something remarkable about ruining a carpet your parents have so warned you abut spilling on for your whole life. We had tiptoed across it, shoeless for so many years. And now, as grown ups, it was a playground. History...makes this affair one only a family can fully appreciate. This delightful misbeaviour.
Thank God for my family. For the chance to love and learn from four people I have nothing in common with—well, in fact, everything in common with.
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