Family is a state of mind #2

On Sunday, we all trekked into the city for a family thing. It was one of those days, as so many of my family things seem to be lately, where I was left with a bitter-sweet taste in my metaphorical mouth. For the most part, it was a wonderful day: we heard Mass at St Marys Cathedral and then had a delicious lunch at Cockle Bay.

And the bad? The bad has to do with a metaphorical table and its metaphorical turning. Usually on these days I am wary of Aunt Agony, not wanting to have to endure any of her insensitive comments. However, it seems my fear was misplaced because on Sunday she didn't say anything upsetting. In fact asked me (sounding very concerned) how I was feeling. Maybe she's starting to realise the seriousness of my plight? I don't want to get too excited in case it was a fluke, but hey ... you never know.

But what does this have to do with tables and their revolutions? While AA toned down her condescension, my uncle -- her brother -- took up the sword and waved it around. Since we were in the city for the day, those who drove had to face the dizzying prospect of paying for their parking. Having a disabled parking permit, I didn't have to worry about this. The following is a rough transcription of what was said (I was too angry to commit it to memory).
Uncle: It's so expensive to park in the city, your Dad shouldn't park there it will cost the earth.
Me: Eh, we don't have to worry about that, we don't pay.
Uncle: Why not?
Me: I have a parking permit.
Uncle (looks at walking stick, looks at legs, looks at me, rolls eyes): All I'm going to say is no comment.
Me: Look here you arsehole. You don't have to say anything when you say that. How the fuck do you dare say things like that to me? Why can't you understand how serious this is? Do you think it's a joke? Do you think I'm a bludger or something? Why don't you come out and say so instead of hiding behind smugness and "I'm not going to say anything"? Bastard.

Ok, not really. I said nothing.

Later, in the restaurant, Uncle and Dad were waiting in line at the bar; Bee and I were standing behind them. Dad asked what I was ordering and I told him: a milkshake each for Bee and I and a lemon squash for Sister. He told the bartender to add them to his order, gave me a $20 note, and started to take his two beers away to the table. Bee was called back to the table to tend to her baby sister as the bartender made our milkshakes. I called out to her -- "Oi! Don't be too long, I only have one hand!" -- because of the stick. Uncle made some comment to Dad, something like "oh come on". I promptly jabbed him, hard, in the ankles with the stick and said "fuck you". Everyone in a five meter radius stopped what they were doing and watched what he'd do. If this were a comedy film, the sound of crickets would be heard in the background.

Ok, not really. I did nothing.

Lately I've felt like an intruder in my own family. Some disabled, gay intruder who doesn't belong to a family that doesn't want to accept him anyway. Today, Mum was talking about having them over in November for her birthday. I was less than enthusiastic. She asked why and I simply said "I don't want to see Uncle again, not any time soon." -- "Why?" -- "He was being a prick on Sunday ..."-- and with that I told her about the incidents on Sunday and other incidents that have been grating on my thoughts ever since.

Lately I feel that I don't want to spend any time with the FAL. Why should I when all I get is grief over what I can't control? It's a strange feeling, especially for one who was brought up in the European family oriented culture that I was brought up in.

They say that you can't choose your family. I say fuck that. Family is a state of mind. Blood relation is a co-incidence; actual affection, love, and familiarity are something you choose.