That's the saying, at least and for the most part, it's true. Sometimes you can adopt (choosing family) and sometimes you live in a co-op where you have to be approved to move in -- you know, to keep the riff-raff out of the neighborhood.
However, a vast majority of us don't fall into these categories -- most of us aren't adopted and most of us don't live in co-ops.
A vast majority of us also have some sort of family drama that makes get-togethers a pain in the ass or we have that weird cousin, uncle, niece or whatnot who provides ample gossip for the rest of the relatives. Chances are, I'm that weird family member people talk about -- but for different reasons than this blog post is about.
This post is about my older brother.
A couple of days ago I rang in the new year (for) me with my 38th birthday. Yes, yes, ladies, it's means I'm becoming more awesome. My older brother just turned 40 or will be 40 on his next birthday, I always forget. He lives in a small dinky town in rural Illinois and lives within miles of where he's lived his entire life.
My brother is also a pseudo-alcoholic. I say pseudo only because I don't want to say out loud that he is in fact an alcoholic. It's one of those open secrets: he can't sleep unless he's drunk, he gets "the shakes" if he doesn't have a beer or two at lunch, he's not cheerful and all day long thinks about his next drink.
He's your typical 12-pack a day kind of guy and even at, or near, 40 he's still proud of his ability to drink all night.
About a decade ago he was at a bar (or a party, I forget, but I think it was a bar) and ran across an ex-girlfriend. The two of them had sex that night and the next thing you know she's pregnant and he's a father to be.
Yay, right?
 |
| To protect his identity |
Now he had no choice. The girlfriend already had a child from a previous relationship and my brother bought a very cheap house in a very cheap side of town and moved them all in while the girlfriend was pregnant. The floors sagged, the electrical was shot, the walls had holes everywhere and barely any of the windows worked. He had high hopes for the house but could never seem to not drink long enough to put the work in to make the house baby friendly. Sure, a few items were fixed here and there as needed when a help came over, or he could arrange some other help, but nothing like the full blown remodel the house needed and he kept saying he wanted to do.
The baby was born. We all traveled to this dinky little town and congratulated the new family. During that same trip to Crapville, Ill, my brother's doctor told him he needed to stop drinking, he'd already damaged his liver and kidneys beyond repair and they could only get worse from that point on.
According to my brother, the doctor didn't understand the local culture of drinking until you're drunk 7 nights a week and my brother never stopped immersing himself in the culture.
That's what I always heard when I questioned my brother on his life choices: "that's the culture around here, Jason. That's how we live."
My brother spent the next few years complaining about his girlfriend: she wouldn't cook for him, wouldn't clean the house, wouldn't do his laundry, wouldn't go shopping, wouldn't get a job, always wanted him to watch the kids, always wanted him to take them places and do things with them, etc.
I remember a number of times telling him over the phone that he's perfectly capable of making his own sandwich, doing his own laundry and taking care of the kids while she goes out.
Of course, according to him, I didn't understand a woman's role.
At this point I'd only met the mother twice: once when the daughter was born and once when I came to town for a family reunion. She was always nice and friendly, but according to my brother she was a drug (heroin?) addict and liked to leave for weeks at a time with a 'new boyfriend' before coming back and playing domesticated housewife for a while. After a few months of his dream girlfriend the stories would turn back to she doesn't clean, she doesn't cook, she doesn't take came of me and so forth.After a few years my brother realized he wasn't actually going to fix his house up so he bought another a few miles away in farm country. He's on 3 acres (because neighbors suck) and is surrounded by farms and ranches; his nearest neighbor being a half mile away.
The house had an in-ground pool which he filled in with brinks, construction waste, logs and dirt before building a deck over it. You know, to save the children from accidental drowning. No one can be expected to keep an eye on the kids, right?
Since then, he went through a terrible break-up with the mother of his child and fought in court for primary parental rights. Surprisingly, he won. I think he only fought for her to screw the mother out of her parental rights.
I guess it goes to show how bad the mother really is that my alcoholic brother who can't figure out how to do laundry won custody of their daughter.
Last year I went to his house for reasons I'll keep to myself for now, and when I pulled up I was appalled at the condition of the house. Most, if not all, of the screens were torn or gone, doors were falling off, the porch was sagging and garbage was strewn across the lawn. Actual garbage. Mostly in the form of beer cans because, as he puts it, he likes to sit out in the yard and have a few beers with the boys. Those large yard garbage cans were filled to over-flowing with cans of Bud Light, Keystone Light, Natural Light and whatever else is cheapest on any given day. Bicycles and broken down vehicles abounded, as well as tons of children's toys that were never used. I saw him yell at his daughter to pick them up and put them away, but she shrugged and walked off, he complained and took another drink from the recently purchased case of beer.
The inside of the house was the same, with every horizontal surface covered in beer cans. Both my brother and his daughter sleep on couches or chairs because no one cleans the bedrooms or does laundry. The master bath tub was filled with dirty clothes and the shower stall was black with mold and soap scum. The other bathroom wasn't used.
The eight year old girl had to cook her own food (usually frozen pizzas and burritos) in the microwave which prompted me to give him a convection toaster oven (which suddenly broke after I left).
The daughter was 8 at this time, doing well in school but her biggest complaint is none of her friends are allowed to come to her house (gee, I wonder why) and since she lives in the sticks, she can't just go down the street to where the kids hang out.
The rest of our family lives in Florida: our father, stepmom, brothers and sisters all reside in the Sunshine State. Occasionally my brother will send his daughter down to spend time with the grandparents, go to the beach, etc. Apparently, in the past, he's been known to send her to Florida with no additional clothes or severely ill-fitting ones -- pants too short, shirts too tight, pants that can't be buttoned and one pair of shoes, no sandals or "nice shoes" for going to restaurants. My family had to buy the poor child a whole new wardrobe so she would have some clothes that fit while she visited.
- Our father has tried to get my brother to move to Florida, presumably to keep a closer eye on his son and granddaughter, but my brother always finds an excuse not to move there even though a job's lined up and a place to live has been arranged.
- My mother, my brother's stepmom, has offered to take the girl full time as long as my brother isn't in her life.
- Another brother and his wife (with their three teenage sons) have offered to take her under the condition that neither my brother nor his ex- have any visitation rights to the girl.
Seems everyone has the girl's best interest in mind, except my brother, her father.
Last summer I offered to let my niece come out to Colorado for a couple of weeks. I thought it would be a good idea to show her a lifestyle that doesn't revolve around alcohol (my parents, brothers and sisters, while not alcoholics are very very social drinkers and are very social).
My brother came up with some sort of excuse not to have her come to Denver when I asked but this year surprised me when he called and asked if she could come out for a couple of weeks.
Apparently, the girl's mother moved out to the Kansas/Colorado border, somewhere around Oklahoma and New Mexico, and she's going to her mom's house after school lets out for the summer. Since she's already halfway here, he wanted to know if she could come out and see the mountains.
Of course I told him she could come out.
He wanted me to take her to the Grand Canyon (um, that's pretty far away), and the mountains. He wants her to see more of America than the crappy little town they live in and the crappy little town the rest of our family lives in in Florida.
Good!
As far as he was concerned, he was never going to be able to show his daughter anything so he has to send her places. I told him to get his life together and he could do whatever he wanted, but he just told me that wasn't his lot in life.
He had some simple rules for when she came:
- No motorcycle rides (he's terrified of motorcycles)
- No parachuting
- No white water rafting
He said she could eat and drink whatever she wanted as long as she drank unsweet tea throughout the day for the water. Why couldn't she just drink water? "No, Jason, she drinks unsweet tea," as though that's just common knowledge.
 |
| The Last Time I Saw Her |
Um, that wasn't the question. Plus, I can do laundry. Clean clothes were never the issue. Was she going to have enough pants/shorts, socks, shirts, underwear, shoes?
He didn't seem to understand the question.
He then went on to tell me her hair was much longer than the last time I saw her: down to the middle of her back.
Okay...
"Make sure she uses shampoo and conditioner." Dude, I'm not going to monitor her showers. She can use it or not.
"Make sure she showers every day or she get's funky." Funky? How funky can a 10 year old get? "Make sure she showers everyday." Okay.
"Make sure she uses something to keep the hair out of her face." Why, does she trip a lot? "No, she's too pretty to have her hair in her face." Dude, she's 10, if she wants to let her hair in her face, she can have her hair in her face. "No, I don't want it in her face." She'll be 800 miles away, calm down.
He didn't seem to care about her eating healthy, only that she showered and brushed her hair. Where were the priorities? I'm more considerate of my dog's health than he seems to be of his daughter.
 |
| Mt. Evans, Summer 2012 |
We have tentative plans for the Great Sand Dunes National Park, RMNP and Mt. Evans with maybe some time in Glenwood Springs (at the pools) and some fun stuff in Denver.
Should be a fun week.
0 comments:
Post a Comment