THE THING ABOUT FAMILY…

Last night I dreamt about Tom Seleck. He was the head of the large family of the man I was engaged to and we liked each other the moment my dream-fiancé introduced me to his dream-dad in dreamland.

Yes, yes, it was a very Blue Blood-y kind of dream, I know…

Anyway, I can’t even remember my fiancé’s face, he was very unimportant in the dream. But the love I felt from Ol’ Tom and the rest of the family was as vivid as colors on a hot African afternoon.

Here’s something I haven’t told any of my wonderful friends: at times like Christmas and New Year and Easter and other wonderful times when my alone-ness seems underlined with a thick-tipped Sharpie, I don’t fantasize about a husband I can share gifts and love and hugs with. I know my friends think I secretly do. But nay. I fantasize about having family. I dream about having someone, sure, because how else will I get into family, but in my fantasies I hardly think of this poor man. I dream of long dinner tables where I have a seat. My own, designated, no-you-can’t-it’s-Agie’s-seat seat.

Having family means you’re counted in on stuff without being asked. You’re expected at the Christmas table. You’re expected to send birthday wishes. You’re expected to call when you’re arrested…

To be part of family means you are no longer the special guest everyone is nice to. You’re the part of the larger group that were responsible for the potato salad or the dessert. And if you mess that up you’ll properly hear it. It won’t be plastered over with politeness.

I dream of having sisters-in-law who calls me to conspire in arranging surprise 50th wedding anniversary parties for my parents-in-law. I dream of brothers-in-law who teaze me and offer to fix the so-and-so when my hubby is out of town.

I dream of family fights. See, the thing about family fights is that even if it’s about stupid stuff, the stakes are still high. Because it’s family. There is a burden to either stop your shit or sort it out.

Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I am happy and I’m surrounded by such wonderful, loving friends that I sincerely feel guilty for writing down my dreams. And I have a brother, so if my need for family becomes overwhelming I can get on a plane and cross the thousands of kilometers to where he is. I guess…

But I still dream. And I still wish for a designated place at a dinner table.

Such Sunday-night thoughts, don’t you think?

It’s too blue for chococino and too cold for wine. Time for whizzas…

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