| They remember all the "Little Sammie" stories and my good grades and how much I loved my daddy and that ever-so-cute little lisp I had. They don't know that I was ridiculed by my peers for that sweet little lisp or that I stopped loving my daddy when I saw him break my sister's heart day after day. They don't know that my brain is feeding off of information but I'm too lazy or too busy with life to get good grades anymore. They're afraid to call me "Sammie" because my mom warned them against it when I was 16, when every one is shedding their child names. They have no idea that I've gotten over it. The last time I saw all of them together was at my cousin's wedding. It was such a suprise to them to see this tall woman in a fuzzy tiger-print skirt and black top held together with safety pins. It was so difficult for them to watch me tread around in combat boots instead of high heels, so painful to see my short, glossy red hair when they remembered so fondly the long brown curls I had as a child. Impossible for them to understand the bruised-steelblue make-up and the indifference to their affection. How shocking would it have been for them to know that I only came to watch the father's mother be put into the ground because I was glad for her death? All of these things about me that maybe they would understand, or tolerate, or try to because they love me... But the reason I've been avoiding letting them try is most poignantly put forth in the Christmas presents my little family of mother, sister, and me have been getting from them since we've been so slightly estranged... Avon, purses, perfume, clothing that doesn't fit or isn't the proper style or is just simply hideous... The presents are always something we don't want, won't use, or -can't- use. I don't know how many of those generic, thoughtless presents I've either thrown away or given to a thrift store. It doesn't help to know that my Aunt Marlene cares deeply, it doesn't help that my Aunt Sherry has a clue and always slips in some cash. It doesn't help because it's lazy. It's lazy when I've been a phonecall, a car ride, a handshake away from these people up until just before college. The last time I saw any of these family members was the day before I moved to into my dorm. None of them know my address, my phone number, even my email address. I'm finding that I just might like it that way - - Especially since I'm no longer receiving their Christmas presents! (1-25-02) |
