Once again, a wonderful holiday with family and another year of realizing how much we love each other and very strange we really are. As I ponder the beings I call family, I wonder if there really is such a thing as “normal.” You know what I mean, those Hallmark Channel family Christmas gatherings with mulled cider, perfectly wrapped presents, everyone dressed in red velvet and lots of hugging. Where are those people anyway? Not in my house, that’s for sure.
Yes, we have lots of hugging. We love each other, I’m sure of that. But that has to be the only resemblance to that “normal” depiction of a holiday. Is there really a family out there like that? For so long, I felt as if my family just didn’t live up to the “ideal” family that sang carols together and had no issues at all except where to park all the cars. Well, that’s a bunch of crap, seriously!
I have a normal, dysfunctional family and we love each other, even with all of our faults. We argue, we show up late, we burn dinner, we even have awkward pauses (don’t you love those?) Perhaps being a writer makes me even more aware of our dysfunction and even more appreciative as the years go by. “Normal” now equates to “boring” in my eyes. Bring on the drunk uncle and the inappropriate gifts and the secrets blurted out at the wrong moment during dinner. Bring on the pouty teenagers and the cursing Grandmas. Oh, and pass the wine.
I love you all!