I have a family I don’t talk to.
I know I’m not alone in this weird pseudo-family world. I had a roommate who was in my boat. My dad has three siblings he doesn’t talk to. It happens.
In my case, my relationship with my older siblings consists of the occasional phone call or facebook message. The last time I talked to my sister was on my 22nd birthday. Just an occasional text message since then. I don’t even know where she lives. My little sister and I keep scheming to go see our brother and our little nephew, but who knows when that will actually happen.
It’s weird, though. My parents uprooted and moved to Oklahoma when I was a kid. My sister moved to Germany. We couldn’t have been more spread apart… physically, cognitively, emotionally.
I mean, my little sister was born when the other set of siblings was my age. How weird would that be? What on earth would I have in common with some twerpy little kids, you know?
But as kids, we idolized them. Heard stories about their adventures from our dad. Got sweet birthday or Christmas presents from time to time. Had epically awkward phone calls from time to time… the usual.
But at some point, I grew up, and lost touch and moved on.
I used to get so mad at my dad for losing touch with his siblings, but I can see why that would happen. I mean, separate lives in different parts of the world. Different goals, different interests, different generations. One morning you wake up and realize that everyone else is just as fucked up and broken as you are. Eventually, you just… fade.
I bring this up, because today is my big sister’s birthday. I don’t know where she lives. I don’t even have her phone number. I wrote on her facebook wall. Real classy, hales.
And it makes my heart ache. And it makes my gut burn. And it makes me wish things were so very different.
So, happy birthday, Robbie. I love you. You’re still one of my heroes. Call me sometime, ok?