The title pretty much says it all. I began reading Stacy Schiff's novel "Cleopatra" on Sunday and just reading about her family made mine seem pretty normal in retrospect. I mean, every family has their own quirks, but at least I can say that my family tree not only has plenty of branches, twigs, and offshoots; it's not full of plotting, murdering, bloodthirsty and powerhungry inbreds. As my cousin put it the other day: our own dysfunction is what makes our family our family. I mean, there's relatives we haven't spoken to in decades, some we try to avoid on purpose, others we see at the obligatory holiday gatherings and carry on polite conversations, and the usual fighting of course. What family wouldn't be a true family without plenty of fights, right? I've pretty much decided that blood or marriage relations or not, I'm just staying out of it all. I have enough stress on my plate than to act like a high school drama queen or king.
I've come to realize over the past few years that I've more or less turned into my mother: peacekeeper, referee, the one who does the right thing regardless of the situation, babysitter, therapist.... you name it, you can pretty much add it to my title. Except more often than not, I have no problem actually speaking my opinion out loud about certain things. Growing up in the generation that I did, I've learned first hand what adults who act like children can do to the children. I'd probably not only know more about, but be closer to quite a few family members if the adults could put their differences aside for the sake of the kids. And I'm seeing the process repeated. Unfortunately, there really isn't a damn thing I can do about any of it, so I'm just going to continue to put my life together and live the way I need to. Which is something I'm still figuring out how to do one day at a time. What I do know is I don't have time for drama.
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