So, tomorrow we head to Bangor for the Family Reunion. This is my mother's side of the family, and it's an event that most of my siblings avoid at all costs (and it does cost). Each year we are urged to visit with this branch of the family tree either at the Lobster Feed (no, we don't feed lobsters, silly- we feed ON them) or the Christmas party, held also in Bangor, on the day after Christmas. I've been avoiding both events for as many years as I can get away with, and this year we have a wedding the day after Christmas (how cool is that??) so we are compelled to make our appearance.
I have a bad attitude about this side of the family, I admit it. But I think I come by it honestly- my tea-totalling family always felt a bit out of place at the Smith parties, and I think that while we thought they were crass drinkers who mocked us for our virtuousness, they probably thought we were snobs. I was born at an awkward gap in the relative span, too young to be noticed by my older cousins and too old to be interested in our younger cousins. At Thanksgiving, I always ended up hanging out in the room where the men hung out, because their conversations were so much more interesting than the women's, and because they acknowledged my existence so much more than the women did.
In recent years, we've all been turned off by the big water fight that ends each lobster feed- and again the snob/aloof thing has loomed between us and the rest of the clan.
But, you know, maybe I've just gotten into the habit of not liking to go to these things. I mean, hey, I drink now too, and maybe that'll make the lobster feed a whole heck of a lot more fun! Maybe they'll be more interested in me now that I've become so impressive, and have a handsome husband to show off. And the rumor is there's no more water fighting- so, I am going to go into this with an open mind. Maybe I'll make a new/old friend- and if not, I'll take my lobster to where the men hang out, and get my credit for showing. Mom will be happy, either way. That's worth a lotta points!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, August 01, 2008
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your relatives. (two posts, read the second one first!)
The strange part of my being at this funeral is that this is the side of the family which I pretty much avoid. Being there made me take a good look at my position in this family, or rather my non-position.
It's my mother's side, and being the youngest in my family I was also one of the youngest cousins- my older cousins didn't ever want much to do with my brother and I when we were little, and the only ones left were the three girls in one family who were even younger than us. But we didn't have much in common with the girls, except that we were bored simultaneously at family holiday celebrations.
Over the years, my siblings and I have found good reasons not to attend those family functions, and the distance between us has widened. I think originally our family was thought of as real snobs because we didn't drink like the rest of the family did (we do now!) and we never did seem to enjoy the same type of humor that they did (lots of fart jokes and teasing and such). We, of course, thought of them as immature boors. Every Summer at the family reunion they start a big water fight, which goes on forever. We don't like it, and we don't take part- further cementing my siblings and I in our cousins' minds, I'm sure, as un-fun.
I think that for everyone, in every family, we all get frozen in each others' minds at a certain age, until we are convinced otherwise. My oldest brother, I think, always kind of had me at 7 (and a cute 7 at that, I always knew he was a big fan of mine when I was a kid), until we started spending time together as fellow grown-ups. I had my cousin Joanie frozen at a nasty mid-twenties state, but as it turns out she's actually really nice- My frozen Joanie wouldn't give me the time of day, but Actual Joanie seems to like me, even. How about that?
The thing that really gave me pause was that no one seemed to recognize me, at first. I moved over when the family processed out so that I could make eye contact with my aunts and they'd know we were there. But one by one my aunts, cousins, and uncles walked past me without recognizing me. I was kind of in the back and I'm sure they weren't expecting to see family back there, but still. After my cousin and her husband got to the back of the church a huge line formed to hug them, like a sad receiving line. We skipped over it, because I didn't want to make these poor people face another face. I found an aunt who I knew would know me and she kind of said "oh look who's here, everyone!" and then everyone knew who I was.
Maybe it's time to hit one of those family reunions and start fresh. But I still won't be water fighting.
It's my mother's side, and being the youngest in my family I was also one of the youngest cousins- my older cousins didn't ever want much to do with my brother and I when we were little, and the only ones left were the three girls in one family who were even younger than us. But we didn't have much in common with the girls, except that we were bored simultaneously at family holiday celebrations.
Over the years, my siblings and I have found good reasons not to attend those family functions, and the distance between us has widened. I think originally our family was thought of as real snobs because we didn't drink like the rest of the family did (we do now!) and we never did seem to enjoy the same type of humor that they did (lots of fart jokes and teasing and such). We, of course, thought of them as immature boors. Every Summer at the family reunion they start a big water fight, which goes on forever. We don't like it, and we don't take part- further cementing my siblings and I in our cousins' minds, I'm sure, as un-fun.
I think that for everyone, in every family, we all get frozen in each others' minds at a certain age, until we are convinced otherwise. My oldest brother, I think, always kind of had me at 7 (and a cute 7 at that, I always knew he was a big fan of mine when I was a kid), until we started spending time together as fellow grown-ups. I had my cousin Joanie frozen at a nasty mid-twenties state, but as it turns out she's actually really nice- My frozen Joanie wouldn't give me the time of day, but Actual Joanie seems to like me, even. How about that?
The thing that really gave me pause was that no one seemed to recognize me, at first. I moved over when the family processed out so that I could make eye contact with my aunts and they'd know we were there. But one by one my aunts, cousins, and uncles walked past me without recognizing me. I was kind of in the back and I'm sure they weren't expecting to see family back there, but still. After my cousin and her husband got to the back of the church a huge line formed to hug them, like a sad receiving line. We skipped over it, because I didn't want to make these poor people face another face. I found an aunt who I knew would know me and she kind of said "oh look who's here, everyone!" and then everyone knew who I was.
Maybe it's time to hit one of those family reunions and start fresh. But I still won't be water fighting.
family funeral
My Mom sent me an email that asked me to please go to my cousin's baby's funeral today, to represent the family, since no one else could go. I would have gone anyway, but that certainly sealed the deal.
The baby was 6 months old and the diagnosis, which isn't actually a diagnosis of all but rather an admission of "we have no idea" was SIDS. Still, a diagnosis of something is better than a whole lot of nothing, and now the family turns from shock and awe to the business of now-what.
So we went to New Hampshire to join my mother's side of the family for the funeral at a small church near Manchester.
I want to take a moment to say that the priest who celebrated the Mass was just a loon. Hey, I understand that he doesn't know the family personally, and I even get that it a priest can't mourn for every person he funeral-izes. But this guy was a bit too cheery for my liking- really seemed like he was having a pretty good time up there. He obviously didn't write his homily. He started to ramble, and rambled on. He showed everyone the cross on the urn, and rambled about that (it was a cool cross), and displayed the teddy bear with wings. But the worst part was when he mused on the baby's name. He stood over the mother and said "how did you choose the name Nicholas for him?" Sobbing, she answered, "his brothers chose his name" and he said "ah! Well, it just fascinated me because you know, in a couple of months it will be Christmas, it would have been his first Christmas and you will be singing 'Jolly Old St. Nick' and thinking of him."
Seriously. Thanks, Padre. Very sensitive. My aunts cooed about how great the priest had been and wasn't he just wonderful?? I guess grief is blind. Which is good. I wouldn't want them to have a really awful memory of the baby's funeral. So.
After the funeral they handed out white balloons and let everyone write a message on one with a sharpie, and together we all let them go. I watched my cousin watch her balloon fly up, up, with a stunned face. I don't know how mothers go on living when their children die. I am told that the love you feel for your children, especially when they're babies- it's overwhelming and complete. How do you ever even stand up again? It is just that fear, of falling in love like that and then losing it, that makes motherhood just too impossible to consider for me. I tried to imagine being there with what would have been our three year old now, and/or six months pregnant, and the ghosts of my non-babies were palpably present there in the church around me. God blessed me with the loss before I had to fall in love, and all things being equal (and they're not, of course) I'm thankful for that.
The baby was 6 months old and the diagnosis, which isn't actually a diagnosis of all but rather an admission of "we have no idea" was SIDS. Still, a diagnosis of something is better than a whole lot of nothing, and now the family turns from shock and awe to the business of now-what.
So we went to New Hampshire to join my mother's side of the family for the funeral at a small church near Manchester.
I want to take a moment to say that the priest who celebrated the Mass was just a loon. Hey, I understand that he doesn't know the family personally, and I even get that it a priest can't mourn for every person he funeral-izes. But this guy was a bit too cheery for my liking- really seemed like he was having a pretty good time up there. He obviously didn't write his homily. He started to ramble, and rambled on. He showed everyone the cross on the urn, and rambled about that (it was a cool cross), and displayed the teddy bear with wings. But the worst part was when he mused on the baby's name. He stood over the mother and said "how did you choose the name Nicholas for him?" Sobbing, she answered, "his brothers chose his name" and he said "ah! Well, it just fascinated me because you know, in a couple of months it will be Christmas, it would have been his first Christmas and you will be singing 'Jolly Old St. Nick' and thinking of him."
Seriously. Thanks, Padre. Very sensitive. My aunts cooed about how great the priest had been and wasn't he just wonderful?? I guess grief is blind. Which is good. I wouldn't want them to have a really awful memory of the baby's funeral. So.
After the funeral they handed out white balloons and let everyone write a message on one with a sharpie, and together we all let them go. I watched my cousin watch her balloon fly up, up, with a stunned face. I don't know how mothers go on living when their children die. I am told that the love you feel for your children, especially when they're babies- it's overwhelming and complete. How do you ever even stand up again? It is just that fear, of falling in love like that and then losing it, that makes motherhood just too impossible to consider for me. I tried to imagine being there with what would have been our three year old now, and/or six months pregnant, and the ghosts of my non-babies were palpably present there in the church around me. God blessed me with the loss before I had to fall in love, and all things being equal (and they're not, of course) I'm thankful for that.
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