Or…. The One With All The Parentheses
Came across this today and it reminded me of when my dad insisted my verrrry slow-to-wake little brother (then in high school) start drinking coffee: Kids try coffee for the first time.
I grew up in a really weird family. Sometimes I wonder if everyone thinks their family is weird, but then I see how positively “normal” they all are in comparison and I just want to say, you guys. You have no idea. MY family was (is) weird. Super weird. The families I remember from my youth were loaves of white bread on a shelf full of like-breaded loaves. Lucky bastards.
I mean no disrespect. I really am jealous. What I would have given back then to be one of those spectacularly similar loaves. I just wanted to be like everyone else. Alas, we were oddballs and misfits, strange little standouts of human beings, and today we are all exceptionally unique individuals with creative souls who bloom in non-traditional ways.
Kinda difficult to be mad about that. We’re spectacular, too. Just not in any kind of a corporate-environment/widely accepted/typical-of-society/financially flourishing way. It’s okay. I like us (for the most part). It’s a good weird (sort of).
I think about this often. The four of us had no structure. Sure, we had plenty of punishment (more on this another time), but there was little discipline. Do your homework or don’t; whatever works for you, kid. Bedtime? Whenever (and wherever) you want! Dinner is make-your-own tonight (a handful of nights a week). What’s a curfew?
Let’s be honest. We were living the dream. We did what we wanted, for the most part, and even though I was envious of other families, I also secretly knew we had it pretty sweet. Our friends could crash on the couch whenever they wanted. In high school, my house was the sleepover house because yeah – no curfew. Even when there was a curfew, it was mostly ignored by all parties involved (with two noted exceptions – also another blog for another day).
This, too, must be said: For all of the turbulence in our little lives with a Mentally Unwell Momma (MUM), we sure had some fun. We did things as a family, including going out to dinner on borrowed dollars, burning swiped pallets at beach bonfires, taking trips funded by Grandma and Grandpa to amusement parks, occasional family vacations up north, and more. A lot more.
Every single family adventure – big or small – always included at least one angry outburst followed by tears from the MUM, but we still had the adventures. We still made the memories. And eventually, we grew up and grew weird little families of our own.
One of my siblings was (is) extraordinarily intelligent with a passion for rationale. Two of my siblings were (are) incredibly industrious. I was (am) creative but also a wee bit overly emotional/sensitive and extremely shy. Oh, I’m much better now – but to this day, I’m still terrified of “getting in trouble.” We’re all characters. We’re all successful, and some of us are (surprisingly) really and truly happy.
Plus! Somewhere along the way, it became cool to be weird. So I guess now we’re cool, even though we didn’t have the designer jeans and meals every night around the table and ski trips with the Joneses and proper bedtimes. See? Everything works out.
Image borrowed from the brilliant Butterflies and Pebbles. Like her on Facebook here.