A couple of weeks ago, I popped round to see my folks. They’d been away and while on holiday, it had been my mum’s birthday. Now, with the kids being older and all of us being busy at the weekend, I went round on my own. Hello dutiful son points. 😉
There was the usual chit-chat, cake, and tea business. This is Britain after all. 🙂 An hour in and my sister and boyfriend – neither of who I’d seen in a while – turned up to much delight. It’s fine; I live away and I’m used to being in the background 🙂
As she and my mum started talking about who’d said what to who, and how certain – and frankly, unimportant – news had developed, I was reminded how much I just don’t give a stuff about any of that.
Now, I find people interesting. I care about what happens to friends, and through some of the stuff I do at work, and at Chams, about the feelings of those, I know only lightly. But…. as the conversation went on, I felt more out of it and frankly, alien. Is this how I was supposed to behave? The grandstanding, the gossip, the bluster, the talk about perceived snubs, etc. Not that my dad does either, bless him. Maybe I’m reading more into it than I should, and I’m more like my dad. He’s a lovely fellow.
With the night drawing in and work the next day, I made my excuses, hugged and left. The drive home, as now, had me thinking on what had played out. I’d not felt like a stranger for some time, and yet, older memories resurfaced: false or true, I couldn’t say. I wondered, does this make me a snob? Hint: don’t answer that 😉 I’ll say no, because it’s not a case of looking down on them, not thinking I’m better. Judging? The content and their occasional hissing, maybe, yes.
I’m certainly not better, not by a country mile…. just, well, different. The proverbial oddball: a metalhead at the proms, or a suit at an eco-warrior meeting. Being one doesn’t stop you being okay with the other. You just, well, don’t always quite click.
Families eh? Who’d have ’em? 🙂