Dysfunction In The Family

Talking about dysfunctional families on Monday got me to thinking about the ways in which my own family is dysfunctional. A key to this thought process is the fact I’ve been away at college and am no longer around my family 24/7, and therefore having been removed, developed maybe more of an honest interpretation.

Comparing my family to the ‘stock’ dysfunctional family, I can’t find anything too dysfunctional. My dad isn’t dopey, maybe a little removed when he reads or does the crossword. Actually as he ages I’ve been noticing a little senility, but at 46 I think it would be unfair of me to start grouping him into the old-man-out-of-the-loop crowd. Instead I’ll just say he has his own interpretation of things.

Mom isn’t the sensible one, so much as she is the insensible one. A long day of work will leave her in a tizzy over why a single sock of mine is lying in the middle of the floor. Her automatic response is that I flung my sock off in a fit of filth, and the fact that it is still lying in the middle of the floor obviously signifies my complete disregard for the cleanliness of the house. Actually, Mom, I was doing my laundry and the sock happened to tumble out of the basket—in no way was it a deliberate attempt to defile the kitchen floor.

Little brother would appear to be the all-american kid from a distance…a considerably long distance. He plays sports, does homework, watches TV, and eats. However the ratio at which this all happens is the clincher. Lots of TV, not so much homework, quite a few sports, lots and lots of food. His food selections are actually quite shocking to me. He’ll come into the kitchen for an afternoon snack, and proceed to make a whole bag of pot stickers. Yeah like 15 or 20 of them. Enough to feed the whole family and still have leftovers basically. And then that’s it…until an hour later he comes up to eat a huge bowl of cheerios, not a cereal bowl, but like a serving bowl. The problem I have is that these are all goods foods to eat, but the sheer quantity in which he eats them gives me nightmares about nutrient deficiency and explosions.

And then there’s me. And I don’t even have anything to say about that because I am perfect.