When I was little, my family drove out to West Texas for Easter. I don’t remember the details of how as far as school goes, but I do remember making the trip and that it was my first memory of snow.
My grandparents barely got by. My grandfather grew cotton on land he couldn’t really irrigate because the Western oil company had salinated his water well and my grandmother managed a motel that catered to truckers and working people who wanted to take a drunk vacation from their working lives without the social consequences.
For Easter, my grandfather would hide eggs in the cotton field, some with money, and by the time we (my sister and cousins) hunted them he was drunk in his pickup truck. We would later go to the motel where they lived to have dinner, and my grandfather would torment anyone he caught in the bathroom. He had lost all of his teeth and had a crooked finger and would scratch on the door begging to let him in.
Easter dinner was catfish from the tank, black-eyed peas, and cornbread. Sometimes all of dinner went down the drain if my grandmother got mad enough at my grandfather, and then none of us ate.
Today the tyrants are my sister, who can’t get over an argument we had about a television show two months ago, my mom and sister who find every way they can to make my father’s sister out to be a liar, and my nieces, who scream and hit punch and stomp on each other — all over a stupid pseudo-bean bag.
That’s right. My almost 50 year old sister has been angry with me for over two months. About a tv program. And after I brought her moon plants and tomato plants, after I brought food for Easter, after I bought her a fucking computer that she can’t seem to plug into a fucking socket for 4 months because she is too busy with work ( she does craft shows on the weekends), she then does much the same thing my grandfather did. Once the nieces arrive, she transforms from bitch to the nicest person on the planet — if you are my nieces. And she doesn’t remember how shitty she has been for the previous 3 HOURS: SO WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG, right?
I give up. I can’t keep up with who is knaiving and how is right or wrong.
My place is here, with the pups and the kittens and the garden.
That’s why I didn’t get rear-ended today.
Karma makes as much sense as anything else.
P.S. Bonus — before my sister went on her jihad, my mom told me about the troublesome children she had to deal with during church (my mom and sister feed their social church thing while avoiding the actual sermons by taking care of the children — that’s what I did as a teenager at the same church, but whatever). She said one three year old foster child knew his foster parents hated him. She was matter of fact about it. I guess that’s just how they roll in the christian suburbs of Houston.