Good Monday everybody! We hope you are all geared up for a new week of possibilities and you have a relaxing Memorial Weekend planned. We haven’t even given the weekend a thought really. We could play it by ear and try to make plans with friends or go to the Keys with the entire family. In theory, the Keys sound nice except for the whole family part.
Lee says: ‘In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.’ Benjamin Franklin said this a long time ago and what he forgot to add to the equation was ‘family’. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my family. I consider my parents the best in the world and my siblings and their spouses are some of my best friends. I am blessed to have the family I do who is supportive and loving. (O.K., I think they left, so I can be honest now.)
Your family can be wonderful but you still react to them. I had mentioned in a previous post about this idea that we see situations, occurrences with a series of cameras. When something happens in a family, everyone has their own perspective. Regardless of how cut and dry you think something is, your siblings or parents will have seen it differently. This makes for some tension that isn’t easily forgiven or forgotten.
Petty? Not really. To deny that something upset you is more hurtful than to pretend to be a happy family. Since I know that my brother and sister aren’t reading anymore and my parents never read this, I’ll give an example. One million years ago, long after the earth had cooled and the dinosaurs had taken their dirt nap, my brother was born. I am the middle child of three and had held the postiion of baby for nearly 8 years. They brought our alleged brother home from the hospital and I was committed to living my life as before. Watching TV, going to school and being a kid. One night, I believe it was Wednesday around 8:30pm, my mother was changing my brother and yelled to me to bring her the vaseline. I was watching ‘The Sonny and Cher Show’ and the best part, The Vamp sketches, which was my favorite thing. I probably didn’t understand it on a conscious level but I’m postive my subconscious was picking up all the sexual innuendos.
So there I was torn between my favorite entertainment and sure Mommy vengeance. So I did what any 8 year old would do. I ran and grabbed the large bottle of Vasaline, ran to my parents’ room, rolled it onto the bed and ran back before she finished the first part of the song. What I had not calculated was the force with which I rolled it nor the trajectory of the bottle. The baby screaming was my first indication that, for the next 35 years, I would be defending my intentions. The bottle struck his head and I was in a world of shit. To this day, everyone tells a different story. My Mother insists I was aiming at his head. My sister concurs but adds that there were mitigating circumstances like my rivalry. My brother, who was probably not even a few months old, is positive I was trying to kill him. I’m sure the other day, while he was dining with a member of the United States Congress, he mentioned how I concussed him long ago.
Who’s right in this situation? Did I feel anger towards this ugly baby that my parents brought home with them? Yes. Did I want to hurt him? No. I had plenty of opportunity to take the little booger out over the years and yet I showed the utmost control. I was a kid. I was busy. I was a scamp, a camp, and a bit of a tramp. I was a V-A-M-P, VAMP!
Paul says: Ok, I read ‘Vamp’ and ‘cameras’ and got turned on. Is that bad?