Family is a Relative Term

The Family

A mother, a father, two daughters, and a son. Oh, and a dog. Sadly, the only one I have any emotional attachment to is the dog. My mother wishes I was more like the Indian kids she teaches dance to, who take an interest in their heritage. My father wishes I was more like his dream child, who is a wealthy doctor and never messes up. My sisters don’t really acknowledge my existence. One is a powertripping teacher with self-esteem so low that anything at all can become an attack on her character.

“Sis, your car is dirty. You should wash it.”

“Fuck, just because I’m not rich and white, and can’t afford to get my car washed every week, doesn’t mean I’m not as good as you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Who asked you?!” It always escalated to yelling, cursing, and fucking annoying arguments over the semantics of suggestions that imply that she is of a lower class than the rest of the family.

The other sister is the complete opposite. Way too much pride, just no life experience to back it up. She’s never held a job for more than a summer. Lives completely off my parent’s money, and parties like it is 1999, which may be because she never quite moved on. Technically, she is going to law school. In reality, she just doesn’t want to go to the real world yet. Too much responsibility and stuff.

Then there is me. The quiet one. All I do is go to school and eat. I don’t have any attachment to anyone. If we were asked to pack up and move, I wouldn’t hesitate. I despise my family’s flaws, as the all subsequently became what I consider my “pet peeves.” I can’t stand anything they do.

This is my home. I just don’t live here anymore. I turn off upon entering. Some people try to pull the, “You’re so privileged, you just don’t know it.” I know I’m privileged, and I love my lifestyle. I just hate growing up in a home in which no one actually likes anyone else. Sometimes I wish divorce was an option in our culture.