Sunday with the fam and the fox returns.
I am one of those lucky people who truly like my spouse's family. I mean, it's not like we all go around singing "Edelweiss" together all of the time, but, in general, I like T's kin.
Yesterday, we met T's sister, in from Chicago for a baby shower, for lunch. It was going to be just the three of us and then our brother in law and his grandson decided to join us and then another niece and then the pregnant-with-twins niece who had the baby shower and her husband....it was a group.
We went to the Market Basket, not one of our favorites, but they have good coffee and that will get me anywhere. Brayden, said grandson was the only child at the table and of course we were all stunned at how smart he is. He is in second grade and came THIS CLOSE to being mayor of his class. Apparently, his teacher wants them to understand how civics works close up so she runs her class like a little city. Anyone can run for anything and they do. Brayden, an ambitious sort, wanted the most prestigious job, so he ran for mayor. He lost by two votes, took it well, did not demand a recount and decided to run for a city planning position instead. He won this handily. He also is the town plumber. I asked him what this means.
"If the sink clogs up, I get to take the note to the school custodian to fix it," he told me.
Sweet job.
Everyone gets along in this family. There are no private jokes. Well, I'm sure that there are, but they are not displayed in a crowd. The talk is rowdy.
I have noticed one thing that most families share: we do not talk politics. The atmosphere would likely be charged, as we are pretty much split down the middle as Democrats and Republicans. Still, I don't have that orphan-at-the-table feeling that I have with my own family, knowing that I am the lone dissenting voice.
We talk and talk and talk until the restaurant is closing and we have to leave. So we all move to our house and continue. Before we know it, the afternoon is gone and time for T's sister to catch her plane back to Chicago. Plans are made to see each other at Thanksgiving or when the pregnant niece pops, whichever comes first.
Afterwards, T and I go for our walk. And there, after weeks of absence is the fox. Jeremy. He has grown so big that he no longer can be called a baby fox, he is well on his way to grown. Still too skinny. Still kinda mangy looking. But, still standing.
"You have to love a survivor," I tell T. She smiles.
"Takes one to know one," she says. "I loved watching you with my family today."
I tell her that this was easy, that I almost always have fun with her family.
"You know, you aren't that at ease with your own family,"she says. "Why is that?"
I think about this. I know that she is right because, while I love my family, I often feel as if I am standing on the edge of it, not really belonging to it.
"I think that the truth is that I am one of the popular kids with your family and one of the bus kids with my own," I finally say.
"Bus kids?"
I tell her that the popular kids in school are never the kids that take the bus to school. That the bus kids are seldom the popular ones.
And I have hit it on the head. In my own family, I am just too different from them to fit properly. This used to bother me. As I've aged, it bothers me less and less. I've grown to like and accept myself more. I refuse to hide my opinions (almost always differing) and have paid the price. The difference is that I have stopped caring.
I tell T this. She, always honest, always wise, doesn't answer right away, just gives me a long look and then hugs me with one arm, kisses my head.
"I think you care a little bit," she says, after a good two minutes of silence. "But, I really, really like it that you pretend not to...."
It is such a luxury to be understood.
It is a luxury to be understood so well.
Yesterday, we met T's sister, in from Chicago for a baby shower, for lunch. It was going to be just the three of us and then our brother in law and his grandson decided to join us and then another niece and then the pregnant-with-twins niece who had the baby shower and her husband....it was a group.
We went to the Market Basket, not one of our favorites, but they have good coffee and that will get me anywhere. Brayden, said grandson was the only child at the table and of course we were all stunned at how smart he is. He is in second grade and came THIS CLOSE to being mayor of his class. Apparently, his teacher wants them to understand how civics works close up so she runs her class like a little city. Anyone can run for anything and they do. Brayden, an ambitious sort, wanted the most prestigious job, so he ran for mayor. He lost by two votes, took it well, did not demand a recount and decided to run for a city planning position instead. He won this handily. He also is the town plumber. I asked him what this means.
"If the sink clogs up, I get to take the note to the school custodian to fix it," he told me.
Sweet job.
Everyone gets along in this family. There are no private jokes. Well, I'm sure that there are, but they are not displayed in a crowd. The talk is rowdy.
I have noticed one thing that most families share: we do not talk politics. The atmosphere would likely be charged, as we are pretty much split down the middle as Democrats and Republicans. Still, I don't have that orphan-at-the-table feeling that I have with my own family, knowing that I am the lone dissenting voice.
We talk and talk and talk until the restaurant is closing and we have to leave. So we all move to our house and continue. Before we know it, the afternoon is gone and time for T's sister to catch her plane back to Chicago. Plans are made to see each other at Thanksgiving or when the pregnant niece pops, whichever comes first.
Afterwards, T and I go for our walk. And there, after weeks of absence is the fox. Jeremy. He has grown so big that he no longer can be called a baby fox, he is well on his way to grown. Still too skinny. Still kinda mangy looking. But, still standing.
"You have to love a survivor," I tell T. She smiles.
"Takes one to know one," she says. "I loved watching you with my family today."
I tell her that this was easy, that I almost always have fun with her family.
"You know, you aren't that at ease with your own family,"she says. "Why is that?"
I think about this. I know that she is right because, while I love my family, I often feel as if I am standing on the edge of it, not really belonging to it.
"I think that the truth is that I am one of the popular kids with your family and one of the bus kids with my own," I finally say.
"Bus kids?"
I tell her that the popular kids in school are never the kids that take the bus to school. That the bus kids are seldom the popular ones.
And I have hit it on the head. In my own family, I am just too different from them to fit properly. This used to bother me. As I've aged, it bothers me less and less. I've grown to like and accept myself more. I refuse to hide my opinions (almost always differing) and have paid the price. The difference is that I have stopped caring.
I tell T this. She, always honest, always wise, doesn't answer right away, just gives me a long look and then hugs me with one arm, kisses my head.
"I think you care a little bit," she says, after a good two minutes of silence. "But, I really, really like it that you pretend not to...."
It is such a luxury to be understood.
It is a luxury to be understood so well.
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