Let’s play a game….one of the following two things are true:
1.) I’ve had about 3 glasses of wine at our family Thanksgiving gathering, and I seem to love my family more than usual.
2.) Jude Law has proposed marriage, I am moving to England, and our babies will be miraculous feats of beauty.
Obviously, I don’t drink, so I will be sending out “Save the Dates” for my matrimonial union with Mr. Law….
In all seriousness, I am enjoying my family more than usual this year, and yes…I have had about 3 glasses of wine. Determining whether the two are connected will be left up to the Gods to decide. But, the important thing is…I am appreciating my family more and more this year.
This, in itself, is a hard feat to accomplish. My family consists of me, my parents (who love me unconditionally…I don’t know who paid them off), my aunt and uncle, their children, and their children, my second cousins. The overwhelmingly glaring truth about my involvement and proper place in my family hinges on one fact: I am the only one in the 15-38 age bracket. Let me be more specific: I am the only one in the 22-30 age bracket…meaning, I am the only one without a spouse, children, and stretch marks.
It has been somewhat difficult for me to find my place within my family for the past few years. When I was growing up, I was the youngest grandchild…the baby of the family…I relished an era of time that allowed me to do/say anything that would be looked upon with giddiness and awe. That was, until , a new generation of great-grandchildren usurped my status and became the new darlings of the bunch. They pushed me off my pedestal, and left me to fend for myself…poor, lost, collegiate student that I was. I found myself struggling to define my familial identity as a grandchild who was becoming an adult, and as an adult that wasn’t quite ready to claim that title.
Keep on reading…
Miracle on 32nd Street 