The family - that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.
--Dodie Smith
I tend to build things up in my mind sometimes. I have these ideas of how things are, and then, not surprisingly, when I find out that I'm wrong, it's devastating. I learned a while ago that the romanticized idea of my Mum's family was not actually how they are in real life.
Growing up, I never noticed the interaction between Mum and her siblings because I was too busy hanging out with my cousins. I just always knew that Mum came from a big family and that I was one of five billion grandkids and cousins. Actually, I have forty cousins.
I sat down and made a list. Forty. Twenty-eight of them are on Mum's side of the family.
And the sad thing is, some of them probably have no idea who I am. Not saying that they're missing out or anything (but I mean, come on! You know they are though!) but just that with forty cousins, I can't expect to be close to them all. Distance, age, divorce, estrangement. Lots of reasons why I don't get forty Christmas cards, I suppose. None of those reasons are anything to do with me, and are certainly nothing for me to try and fix anymore (as I tend to want to do and even used to do with lots of situations).
When I was sixteen years old, living in America and wanting desperately to be back in England, I used to imagine this huge, bustling, close-knit family--an English version of that old Italian stereotype. I pictured Grandma Joan's kitchen as the central hub of all that went on in the Nethercot world. People would come and go, drink endless cups of tea and eat countless plates of cheese and onion sandwiches. Kids played on the green outside. It smelled like toast and ironing. I imagined all this based on every single time that I'd ever been at Grandma's. There was always some cousin to walk with, always a plate of biscuits being offered around, always an Aunt or Uncle to chat away to. I didn't make it all up or anything. I mean, this was actually how I saw it. I lived it.
And then, going home for the first time since the move, it began to dawn on me that this family, this huge, diverse family of my Mum's, and therefore, of mine, wasn't the family that I had imagined. They were real, alright. They just weren't anything I understood or knew how to deal with.
They were, unbelievably to me at the time, real people, with feelings and lives of their own.
And shit, it just threw me.
I slowly began to see how things were. I was looking at it all wrong though. It never occurred to me that eight sisters and two brothers are not always going to get along. There's no law that says they have to be best friends. There's no rule outlawing arguments among sisters. And I guess that's what got me.
I knew that I hated my sisters sometimes, but I couldn't see how adult sisters could fight (I've since TOTALLY seen how adult sisters could fight). That was a huge error on my part. And I definitely didn't take into consideration the fact that siblings could be so different that they might only see eachother at the occasional family gathering. As I've said, I hated my sisters sometimes, but I totally planned for us all to live as next door neighbours and raise our children to be identically dressed little munchkins. Reality was never my strong suit.
Dean bore the brunt of a lot of my unreasonable questions. "Why does So-and-So hate Thingamabob?" or "How come Whatsername won't come round if Whatserface is here?" And to his credit, Dean's answer was usually, "Stop trying to understand it, mate. Just let em' all get on with it."
I was unstoppable though. I interfered in things I didn't understand, and I took everything personally. These people were WRECKING MY FANTASY!! I heard bits and pieces of gossip and tried to fix things. I am groaning inwardly now at how naïve I was. I believed that if I could just get everybody together, disagreements would be forgotten, bonds would be forged, slights would be overlooked, and in the end, we might all sit around in Grandma's kitchen singing Kum-Ba-Yah and it would all be down to me. I would have fixed my Mum's family. Turns out they don't need fixing, though. They're fine as they are.
It took me a long time to come to terms with that.
The people that are in my life are there because they choose to be, and because I choose to be in theirs. The Aunts, Uncles and Cousins that keep in touch with me and allow me to be a part of their world are the ones who have made my life better. I don't have any bad feelings towards the others; I never expected to be close to them for the rest of my life or anything. We're too big a family to have equal closeness with everyone. It's unrealistic, right?
Had and Tom have six cousins. Two on my side of the family and four on Aaron's. I hope they'll be close, but they don't have the same childhood that I did. They don't live close or have the opportunity to spend lots of time together. But I hope they'll find things in common. I never had a brother, but Dean was always a good surrogate. He took the time to visit me in America, and we burned up the phone lines as teenagers, asking advice, telling eachother what was happening in our lives. He really was more like a brother than a cousin. We don't talk very often anymore, but I know that if I need him, he'll be there. I'd do anything for him. Emma and I weren't close as kids, but through email, and probably just since we're older and have more in common, I like to think that we've bonded and become much closer than we would have if we had to rely on phones and snail-mail. And ya know, she takes really awesome pictures!
Technology has really helped to keep me close to family.
My Uncles, though, are actually what I started to write about. Colin and Richard, in particular. I've never really heard much about women who get along well with their Uncles. Uncles have a bad rap, usually. They're either really distant, or really creepy. I've never even called them Uncle, to be honest. They've always just been Colin and Richard, just like all my Aunties were called by their first names too. Strangely, our parent's friends were to be addressed as Auntie and Uncle, confusing things immensely.
(In another confusing aside, Mum's sister Tracy married a man called Richard. Mum's brother Richard married a woman called Tracey. Think that was bizarre for us?)
Since I've been an adult, I've been lucky enough to really get to know Colin and Richard. They're a lot alike, actually. Both quite serious at first, but with a fine-tuned sense of humour. Indtimidating if you don't know them. Both of them are fantastic Dads. Both of them are sensible enough to realize how awesome I am (Okay, I had to put that bit in, otherwise the whole paragraph would be totally sappy and I would puke).
Richard and Tracey came to see me and my family this weekend. I'd hoped and hoped that they'd be able to, but I didn't think it would happen. I saw them last year in Arkansas, and since then, we'd talked about having them come to visit me here. I was so happy when Mum called the other day and asked if it was okay if they could come up on an impromptu visit. We had a really nice time and when they left, I felt unreasonably sad. Another goodbye, but hopefully, there will be more visits soon. Hadleigh and Tom LOVE their second cousins, Luke and Matthew. When they hung out last year, they got along, but this year, well, I don't think it would be going overboard to say that my kids just WORSHIP my cousins!
I stayed up until the early hours talking to Richard (and yes, he did talk back, it wasn't just me talking, thank you very much!!). Isn't it funny how you can talk so much when you've had a couple bottles of wine? Also, in a related thought....isn't it funny how you can get so much relief from a cold tile floor the next morning? Hangovers suck!
Richard, if you read this, I really am sorry that I talked your ear off. I'm sure our conversation was profound. I hope I didn't just talk about Big Brother and My Many Boring And Stupid Insecurities (as you know, that could easily take us until 4:30 in the morning).
Click here for a slideshow of some of the pictures from the weekend.
Colin is seven years older than me and fourteen years younger than Mum, so we're sort of the same generation. Starting about five years ago, Colin began to phone me and we got along well. He drove all the way from Leicester to Naples to see us, which was awesome! (I won't post pictures of that because I was pregnant and I looked like a manatee). Francesca and Katia were lovely. Hadders worshipped them too. The main thing that Colin and I had in common at first was our love of Italy. Then we talked about loads of other things, and the phonecalls continued, and it's just been really nice to know him as a friend and not just a distant dreaded Uncle. We might not talk for a couple of months, but then he rings to see what's going on, and we have a laugh. We hung out at their house when we went home, and it was really nice. (Except for the brilliant idea that Colin and Aaron had of letting Colin cut Aaron's hair. Beer is bad, y'all.) Looking back, I never would have thought that we'd end up as friends, but I'm glad we did.
Short break for a quick case of the dry heaves. These men are probably like, "God! We're never talking to her again! She's well embarrassing!"
I've agonized about posting this, about posting my feelings about "The Family" (like they're some sort of big crime family and could have me whacked, and Grandma is really some sort of Market Gangsta and if she finds out I've been squawking about "da family" she'll make sure I sleep wit da fishes at the bottom of the Severn) and having them out for all to see. I really have made my peace with it though. I can't speak for Mum or anybody else. This is me. I suppose I should hope that my nieces and nephews don't try to analyse me and MY siblings.
Because y'all know they'll have their work cut out for them.
