Sometimes a guy just needs his big sister (although he doesn't always want her to know it!)
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What is there about big sisters?
A Unofficial Family Feud Memoir
Family Relationships
Ah, family. The people you share a significant portion of your DNA with, which for some translates to a deep and abiding love. For others, well, it’s like being stuck in a crowded elevator with a toddler who keeps smearing mashed banana on the emergency stop button. Me? My family? I fall somewhere in the “avoid eye contact at all costs” category.
They say “blood is thicker than water.” Thicker, sure. But have you ever tried to clean dried blood out of a carpet? It’s a nightmare. Water, on the other hand? Water solves most problems and it helps make a wonderful cup of tea also. Perhaps that metaphor needs a rethink?
Then there’s the whole “family first” business. Look, I get it. Loyalty’s important. But my family’s idea of a good time involves bingo nights where the biggest thrill is winning a commemorative tea towel, while at the same time harshly judging my life choices thus making “family second” looking mighty appealing.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t raised by wolves (though judging by my uncle Joseph’s table manners, you could be forgiven for thinking so). There were hysterically funny times – Christmas mornings spent strategically unwrapping presents to avoid the dreaded “socks again” disappointment. Birthday parties where the entertainment was watching my aunt Martha attempt the Macarena, a sight that would make even our confused cat raise an eyebrow.
But as families do, they … evolved. Evolved into a collection of human beings who, frankly, wouldn’t be my first choice for my pub quiz team, let alone a lifetime commitment. Let’s just say our family values diverged faster than a flock of pigeons spotting a discarded french fry.
There were arguments, of course. Mostly fueled by a potent cocktail of passive aggression, lukewarm sherry, and Aunt Mary’s unwavering belief that the moon landing was a hoax. Eventually, things reached a head, a glorious, messy head, a lot like a particularly enthusiastic child at a birthday cake buffet.
Estranged? You bet. Do I miss them? Look, I’ll admit, sometimes I miss having someone to blame for my questionable taste in clothing during my teenage years as displayed in almost all of our family photos. But mostly, the silence I now experience is deafeningly beautiful. It’s like finally escaping a particularly bad case of elevator music.
So, to answer your question, dear readers, my family relationships are about as functional as a chocolate teapot. But hey, who needs family when I have friends who I can actually choose to spend time with and who do not judge my Netflix queue nor question my life decisions (too much).
Besides, there’s a whole big wide world out there full of fascinating people who might share my love of obscure 1980 sitcoms and my questionable karaoke choices. Blood may be thicker than water, but friends, well, they are the Red Bull to my existential hangover. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a full season of Magnum P. I. and a large pizza. Family-sized, naturally. Just kidding. I seldom share my pizza with anyone.
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The Sweeter the Wine
The Sweeter the Wine
Wine was not exactly an acquired taste of mine, but rather a delayed one. For years I was a teetotaler – not by choice mind you, but on doctor’s orders. I suffered from migraine headaches since I was a young girl, and I had been told wine was a trigger. (See Migraine)
Of course I’d risk a glass or two now and then, especially when out to dinner and friends were ordering adult beverages and I felt childish asking for Coke.
And on sabbaths and holidays I’d drink a glass or two trusting that exceptions are made for ceremonial wine. In fact I’ve grown to rather like the often maligned, very sweet taste of Manischewitz.
So if you’re one of those detractors who find Manischewitz concord grape too sweet for your palate, I urge you to try their blackberry wine – it’s just sweet enough! L’Chaim!
– Dana Susan Lehrman
“War? What Is It Good For? Absolutely Nothing!”
Hey there you fellow homo sapiens! Gather ’round, lemme tell ya a joke. It’s a real knee-slapper, been around for millennia. It goes a little somethin’ like this: a bunch of ya all get riled up, paint yer faces funny colors, grab some pointy sticks, and see who can spill the most blood and guts! Hilarious, right? War: A sick joke we keep on telling, and telling and telling.
War. Yeah, war. That big, bad gorilla in the room, the one shrunken down by our fancy dinners in front of TVs and our twenty-four-hour news cycles. We’re bombarded with it, folks. Explosions lookin’ like fireworks shows, soldiers lookin’ like action figures – all sanitized, all pretend. But let me tell ya, war ain’t no game.
Did ya play war as a kid? Probably. We all did? I did. Sticks for swords, dirt piles for trenches, imaginary enemies lurking ’round every corner. But then we grew up, right? Learned the difference between make-believe and messy reality. But some folks, they never learn. They hold onto that childish aggression, that tribal “us vs. them” mentality. It’s passed down like a family heirloom – grandpappy fought the Kaiser, daddy went to ‘Nam, so little Timmy’s gotta go blow somethin’ up in the Middle East.
Maybe you weren’t a soldier yourself. Maybe it was your brother, your sister, your spouse. Maybe they came back different – haunted eyes, shaky hands, nightmares that leave them screamin’ in the middle of the night. War steals, man. War steals lives, steals sanity, steals hope. It leaves scars on the battlefield and scars on the soul.
And the cost, folks! The mountains of money piled high, the wasted resources, the lives that coulda been woulda been shoulda been somethin’ great. All burnt up on the altar of some idiotic war for oil, for land, for some business man’s and politician’s ego trip. Have you ever seen a good war? Didn’t think so.
Now, some of you might be sayin’, “But Kevin, what about defendin’ our freedom? What about fightin’ evil?” Fine, fine. But who defines that evil? Who decides what freedoms are worth dyin’ for? War’s a blunt instrument, man. You swing it around and it takes out the innocent just as quick as the “bad guys.”
Maybe I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one so I gotta believe there’s another way: Diplomacy; talkin’ things out like civilized folks instead of cavemen with clubs. It’s a tough sell, I know. But think about it. Wouldn’t you rather spend your tax dollars on schools and hospitals instead of bombs and bullets? Wouldn’t you rather see your kids playin’ tag than playin’ war?
War’s a joke, folks. A sick, twisted joke that’s been around for far too long. It’s time we stopped laughin’ and started demandin’ better. Let’s build a world where war’s a relic of the past, a bad memory from childhood games, not the horrifying reality on our TV screens. Now that, folks, would be a real laugh riot
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