I’ve always despised the concept of “family” growing up.
To me, families were inherently dysfunctional groups of loud, fat, old, annoying, and/or pushy people, with their self-indulgent in-jokes and get-togethers. Families were for the weak and the co-dependent. That’s not to say they weren’t intriguing sometimes. For example, I liked the movie The Family Stone in a curious “life on other planets” kind of way (plus Rachel MacAdams is really cute – as long as her bangs help cover up that five-head* of hers).
* (A five-head is a forehead that is just too damn big. Helen “Drive-in” Hunt would be Exhibit A.)
Amy’s extended Corean family is wonderful, but the fact that I can’t understand what they’re saying half the time plus my own antisocial dysfunction and not wanting to be “the white guy in the corner” limits the bonding significantly, which honestly, is probably how I prefer it. I’m just not used to being part of a big family.
I feel this way because my own family growing up was very small – me, my mom and my brother. And to me, that wasn’t a family. Families aren’t supposed to be that small, lonely, and desperate. We were “just us.”
Our family was so small because after my dad died (I was 13), his side of the family cut us out of their lives (and my mom’s side lives in Corea). Who knows why – maybe they didn’t like us, or our mom, or they were too fucked up over their own brother dying suddenly. We were all fucked up and I can tell you from experience, those were formative years. I developed a lot of hate and anger then, and it’s still a comfortable shroud sometimes.
Anyways, I’ve written about this before but last year one of our uncles and aunts found my phone number through the internet. We visited them. They greeted us with warm welcome and even better, had pictures of us and our dad that we’ve never seen before. They had vaguely expressed some regret in shunning us for the past 23 years. Which still baffles me – I mean, we’re practically all that’s left of their own brother. Maybe it’s a Big Family Thing – like when your family tree is that big, who cares about a few little branches breaking off.
Since that visit, we’ve missed their annual family reunion, partly due to scheduling but honestly more due to apathy and discomfort with the whole “let’s forget the past and be a big family again” thing. At this stage in our lives, we’re both married and have kids. I’m more interested in spending what little time I can visiting my brother’s little family than the big family that dumped us. Part of me misses a favorite uncle or aunt, but part of me would also like to see them take the regret of their mistake to the grave. To paraphrase Bill in Kill Bill 2, “There are consequences to breaking the heart of a thirteen year old child.”
Anyways, I’m getting used to the idea of family again with my own. Four isn’t too small for a family and neither is three. The numbers don’t matter as much as the sense of security, love, and fun. That’s like a dozen fun uncles and aunts right there.
But I have to admit, when they mail me pictures like the ones I just received (in this entry), I almost wish I wasn’t so cold inside. Almost.
