Really???
After decades spent wondering what I did wrong, I've finally had it pointed out to me the possibility that my entire family treats me like crap because THEY are idiots...not because 9of anything that I did or didn't do. It never occurred to me that it wasn't my fault when both parents and all 5 younger siblings were perpetually angry with me for transgressions apparently committed in the 60's, 70's or 80's. I've spent the better part of my life trying to figure out exactly what I did wrong so I'm not even going to try to justify myself today other than to say, "Yes. I have made mistakes in my life." But, I never set out to hurt anyone...ever.
And when it comes to family, somehow I've been cursed with the ability to love unconditionally. I have no clue where it came from but I think it had something to do with Leave it to Beaver and the Brady Bunch. One way or another, I forgive behavior from my family that I would never tolerate from others. And...my family is full of assholes. Ask anyone in it...they may call ME the asshole, but they won't deny that the asshole gene runs rampant in our Irish/British clan.
Another exigency working against me is the sheer number of my family assholes. There are always a few of those idiots actively being a dick to me so I never really have time to think about the most recent of my family squabbles. Oh, by the way, sometimes they gang up and attack from all angles. That can really leave a person stunned..so much so that no one gets blamed because, naturally, anyone who sucks up THAT much malevolence from their own family MUST have done something to deserve it...right?
You tell me.
One evening I was minding my own business as my mother prepared dinner. She had been making cupcakes and was cooling some while we ate dinner. After dinner, when she went to frost the stupid cupcakes, she noticed that one was missing. Now, most mothers of 6 kids would have let the missing cupcake slide. But, in my house, this was an opportunity for ambush and therefore, it could not just slide away.
After asking each kid individually, my parents lined us up according to age. I don't remember what they said until my father asked, "Barbara, who do you think took the cupcake?" I didn't even see this one coming,
"I think Margaret took it." declared my mother.
"I think so too." responded my father. Only he added this gem, "Look at her face. She's covered in pimples, of course she took it."
So, I was guilty by adolescence. Forget the fact that I was old enough to admit to a cupcake pilfering, to ask for a cupcake and to wait for the frosting on the cupcake.
So, I continued my life, being ABSOLUTELY sure never to accuse my kids of anything unless I had irrefutable proof of their guilt. Decades later, I heard that my brother Mike had long since admitted that he had stolen the cupcake in question. The entire family knew about it, that is, the entire family except me.
Come back later and I'll tell you about the time my brother broke my nose. He's been mad at me ever since.
And when it comes to family, somehow I've been cursed with the ability to love unconditionally. I have no clue where it came from but I think it had something to do with Leave it to Beaver and the Brady Bunch. One way or another, I forgive behavior from my family that I would never tolerate from others. And...my family is full of assholes. Ask anyone in it...they may call ME the asshole, but they won't deny that the asshole gene runs rampant in our Irish/British clan.
Another exigency working against me is the sheer number of my family assholes. There are always a few of those idiots actively being a dick to me so I never really have time to think about the most recent of my family squabbles. Oh, by the way, sometimes they gang up and attack from all angles. That can really leave a person stunned..so much so that no one gets blamed because, naturally, anyone who sucks up THAT much malevolence from their own family MUST have done something to deserve it...right?
You tell me.
One evening I was minding my own business as my mother prepared dinner. She had been making cupcakes and was cooling some while we ate dinner. After dinner, when she went to frost the stupid cupcakes, she noticed that one was missing. Now, most mothers of 6 kids would have let the missing cupcake slide. But, in my house, this was an opportunity for ambush and therefore, it could not just slide away.
After asking each kid individually, my parents lined us up according to age. I don't remember what they said until my father asked, "Barbara, who do you think took the cupcake?" I didn't even see this one coming,
"I think Margaret took it." declared my mother.
"I think so too." responded my father. Only he added this gem, "Look at her face. She's covered in pimples, of course she took it."
So, I was guilty by adolescence. Forget the fact that I was old enough to admit to a cupcake pilfering, to ask for a cupcake and to wait for the frosting on the cupcake.
So, I continued my life, being ABSOLUTELY sure never to accuse my kids of anything unless I had irrefutable proof of their guilt. Decades later, I heard that my brother Mike had long since admitted that he had stolen the cupcake in question. The entire family knew about it, that is, the entire family except me.
Come back later and I'll tell you about the time my brother broke my nose. He's been mad at me ever since.
posted by Meg Kelso | 7:43 AM
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