confessions of a southside catatonic chataholic

...They don't mean to get on your nerves. They don't even mean to be your family, they just are.'
~ Marsha Norman, 1947, American playwright, screenwriter & novelist

Sometimes, though, the things they say are a serious WTF moment. The kinda moments that make you wonder sometimes if you really are related. It's Tuesday which means this is a 'My family and other animals' post where I relate one conversation very kindly provided by nephews, niece, siblings or parents that beg to be shared. The subject of this particular post is my youngest sister (the baby of the family).

As kids we would all tease other unmercifully. There used to be a running joke in our family that our dad was the milkman and we would rag each other about it, giggling and making fun. My siblings used to tell me the reason I was fairer than them was because I was adopted. Some days I used to wish that were so. Even now, at 35, I wonder if some king & queen aren't still looking for their lost little Maori princess. I remember telling my sister one day that she was adopted. She said to me, 'I'm going to tell dad,' and I said, 'Which dad? 'Cause you know that's not your dad.' I distinctly remember thinking it hilarious at the time. Not even being grounded detracted from that.



There is a 14 year difference between my youngest sibling and myself and ohmygosh she was one ugly baby. I swear, put her near a monkey cage and it would have been hard to tell the difference. And she always cried. Looking back, I'd like to think I thought that way becase I was 14 and inherently selfish but I'm not so convinced. She really was an ugly baby. Obviously she didn't stay that way and, over time, even stopped crying. As a school child she was stricly a 'colour in the lines' type - never questioned anything, did as she was told and was, generally, a dutiful child. Then puberty hit and she became the antiChrist almost overnight. These days, at 21, she's an expectant mother and still inhales books like they're oxygen. She gives me a run for my money! For all of that reading, though, she is sometimes incredibly naive and unaware. I remember reading the Harry Potter series about 10 years ago and handing her a copy. She devoured it in one sitting and has been a fan ever since, but a conversation we had when she was 16 always makes me think I should have insisted she read more nonfiction. LOTS more.

Amiria: You know the owls in Harry Potter?
Tosca: *reading a book* Not personally, no.
Amiria: No, but you know them right?
Tosca: *sigh - still reading* Yeah.
Amiria: I think it's cool that they were made up just for the movie.
Tosca: Yeah, cool. *silence* No, wait. *puts book down* What?
Amiria: Owls. They were made up just for the movie -
Tosca: No they were not.
Amiria: Yes, they were, because -
Tosca: No, I'm pretty sure they weren't. In fact, I'm almost positive they existed in real life. Before Harry Bloody Potter *trying not to be sarcastic but seriously failing*
Amiria: So, like, owls...?
Tosca: *firm voice* Real.
Amiria: So, like, Hedwig...?
Tosca: *firm voice* Very real.
Amiria: Really? Wow! That's so weird! *wanders off*