I am not a big fan of the out doors. Never really liked bugs. Don't really like getting all dirty and grimy. Put me by a window or on a screened porch though and I am fine. Last week my auntie texted me and asked if I want to attend a cookout her sister (my other aunt of course) was having. I agreed. So my Memorial Day weekend was spent in Deleware with my estranged family. I love my aunties to pieces. They are funny, intelligent, family oriented women. Between the two of them I have five cousins four of whom I got to spend time with over the weekend. My mother's uncles don't have any children so I was the only grandchild. I am use to a compact family. I stayed the night in Deleware where this morning I counted 7 wash clothes in the bathroom for the household. That did not include the 3 overnight guests that included myself my other auntie and my cousin. The experience was a little surreal.
Sometimes I think about the way in which things are connected to determined how things could be disconnected. Being connected to my mother and disconnected from my father caused a disconnect from my aunts and cousins. Obvious though right. I wonder how could they live without me... how could he live without me? I have the feeling that my father is proud of me. I mean I am a polite, charming, attractive young lady. I was raised to respect myself as well as my elders. I am not on drugs... I mean there is a whole list of things I suppose. All of that I attribute to my mother and maternal grandparents. I am still waiting to give my father credit for something. In the pictures we took yesterday I was searching for my face in his. I was looking for the connection, for the me in him. In every picture of me there were teeth. Partially because my aunts kept me in stitches and partially because if I stopped laughing I probably would have started to cry. I think he is still trying to live up to his nickname Cockoman. He got it because he was so arrogant and cocky when he was younger. One of the only "stories" I know about him.
I think that I may have been a bit nervous and I know that I had to stop myself from tearing up several times. Especially, talking to Mr. Collins, who is my paternal grandfather, because I miss my pop-pop so much (my mommy's father). Hearing Mr. Collins talk about the war and his military travels made me think of him and his stories. Mr. Collins told me about a time when the word "MF" cost him $500. To this day he doesn't like the word. It was fun seeing where I could possibly get my "idiosyncrasies". Like both of my aunts sleeping with the fan on just like I do. I like the sound of the motor because it puts me to sleep. My cousin Danielle and I had the same toe nail color. (more of a coincendence than anything else, i know.) My Auntie Cheryl swears that I look like her mother. My father enjoys taking pictures too. "Look she is definitely Michael's daughter. Look at all the pictures she took."
I am the oldest of the neices and nephews by about ten years. Because my mother and father didn't really work out I missed out on having little cousins to babysit or tease and this weekend confirmed that. It just felt so comfortable to be there and it was hard because it still felt like I was on the outside. Alot of time has been lost. I missed the bumps and bruises, laughs and nicknames... and the reason behind those nicknames.
My father and I have yet to have a real conversation about anything since the funeral last year (his mother). I mean a cookout with a whole rack of cousins isn't really the best place to have the convo we need to have. Some parts of me is glad that we couldn't other parts want to scream "What's wrong with you man?!"
Sometimes I think about the way in which things are connected to determined how things could be disconnected. Being connected to my mother and disconnected from my father caused a disconnect from my aunts and cousins. Obvious though right. I wonder how could they live without me... how could he live without me? I have the feeling that my father is proud of me. I mean I am a polite, charming, attractive young lady. I was raised to respect myself as well as my elders. I am not on drugs... I mean there is a whole list of things I suppose. All of that I attribute to my mother and maternal grandparents. I am still waiting to give my father credit for something. In the pictures we took yesterday I was searching for my face in his. I was looking for the connection, for the me in him. In every picture of me there were teeth. Partially because my aunts kept me in stitches and partially because if I stopped laughing I probably would have started to cry. I think he is still trying to live up to his nickname Cockoman. He got it because he was so arrogant and cocky when he was younger. One of the only "stories" I know about him. I am hestitant to post this blog. I mean I mainly post about art in some way shape or form or at least I try. Sharing the craziness that is my life within the last couple of posts is a little weird. I guess it fits under the catergory of commentary and these are certainly my life and times.
