A Man Of Extremes

As a man of extremes I believe that there are two types of families, and two types only, and they occupy opposite ends of the spectrum.  And when I say “end” I mean to suggest that you need to travel a long, long way to get to what you think is the end, then travel about that far again.  At that point you can sit down and have a cup of coffee so that you can talk with someone about how far you still have to travel to get to the end.  As you can see, you are a long, long way from the middle, which is normally a pretty good place to be.

The point is that I see family as either an impossibly unrealistic, idealistic Norman Rockwellian portrait or a demonic inferno of anger and conflict.  The truth of the matter, of course, is that most of us have family lives that fall somewhere in between.  I think that my family is exactly in between.  It’s a hamburger with no toppings on a plain bun served on an unadorned white plate, and fries don’t come with that and neither does Cole slaw.  It’s not offensive but it’s not exactly riveting in its appeal, either.  You can take it or you can leave it alone.  You wouldn’t clamor for it but you wouldn’t throw it away if you were hungry, either.

When I came home I knew I wasn’t stepping into the Rockwell scene.  I notched down my expectations but not far enough, apparently.  I would swing by my parent’s house and my appearance would barely make a ripple in the pool.  I didn’t expect deep and profound conversations but my dad would barely look up from The TV when I entered the room.  Still, I knew that he was glad to see me.  I could say hello and go out to the deck and read, and this was OK with my folks.  I was around and that was all they were looking for.  It seemed like a waste of a long trip to me but I’m not exactly the best person to ask for advice on personal relationships.  I’ve had . . . ahem . . . some issues there.

I marvel once again at how quickly I try to build the world with my own little set of Lincoln Logs to my own little set of expectations.  “Here’s how it should be!” I shout, irritating almost everybody who wonders why the seaweed draped man is yelling over in the corner.  So I did my best.  It didn’t make any sense to me but no one was asking for my opinion.  I think my folks enjoyed my stay.  I think that they were looking for something that I didn’t know I could give.

It was a pretty good trip.