Family

My dad’s father died when my dad was about eight years old. As a result, he lost touch with most of that side of the family. A few days ago one of my dad’s uncles passed away and the two sides of the family were brought together again.

The family bond is definitely a strange thing. When my sister and I were in high school, we could get in the worst fights in the 4 minutes is took to drive to school. We’d stomp into the building, charge toward our separate lockers, and as soon as we ran back into each other before the first bell we’d be whispering gossip and begging to borrow each other’s clothes as though I hadn’t just cursed her and she hadn’t just thrown her boot at me. Nope, non-related people just wouldn’t tolerate such behavior.

It’s been years since my dad has seen some of his family and decades since he’s seen others, but because they are family, everyone just picks up where they left off. I like to think that family gives us an identity and lets us belong to something. Our roots are tied to theirs. Even when we don’t like our family, we still love them. Unless you had a genuinely awful family. In that case, I’m sorry for your loss.