Unraveling Our DNA

For all you people who are going to watch the Grand Tradition of the Rose Parade, and think, "WOW! Look at the weather!" Don't be fooled. It's going to be in the 50s and rain all week. I know this because an Accuweather metero-dork told me so. It won't be a problem, since there will be only 8 people and Clooney hanging out in my parents' 1000 s.f. place. We're good.
I am taking collections for my alcohol consumption fund on the plane. Now that they charge $7 for a cocktail, and the economy being what it is, I need a little help. I'm thinking of setting up a kiosk in the airport, showcasing my children running around. I'm thinking Hare Krishna meets drunken Hobo. So, yeah.
I have received a bunch of notes, emails, and phone calls from various friends and relatives spending these holidays with friends and relatives of their own. One question keeps coming up: "How am I related to these people?"
Part of the explanation must be rooted in the DNA of Theme Sweaters (see related post), but how is it that we can be so fundamentally different from those whose DNA we share? Fat family, skinny friends. Or in my case, fat me, skinny family. Theme Sweaters and Grinches. Christians and Atheists. Atheists and Jews. Big families, Little families. Slobs, OCD's. Then, on top of that, are In-Laws. (A group ranging from intolerable to remarkably normal. Mine fall into the latter end of that spectrum.) How could the spouse you love and live with every day have such an enormous dark side? How could this person have been raised in a house with those people? And emerged semi-sane?
I ask myself these questions often. And not always in a snide way. I mean, sometimes, snidely, sure. But mostly out of curiosity. My sister is often referred to as a clone of my dad. They share certain obvious similarities in their appearances. Additionally, they cross their arms and feet in the same ways when they recline. They have hands that are so similar, it's eerie. They share a similar intolerance for people of a certain thinking oppositional to their own. (Though I must say, my sister is more vocal in hers.) I have often called them separately to retell a story, only to find their reactions are the same. Creepy. My mom and sister are mostly oil and water. Me? I'm truly a mix of my parents, I think. But this does not necessarily mean a better relationship with either. In fact, I often feel at sea in the group. My sister and dad are clearly a bloc. My mom is a strong personality of her own. I often drift in the middle, finding no agreement from either side. For example, I like animals. My sister finds house pets revolting. My Dad finds them not so much revolting, but tremendously unworthy of the effort. My mother finds them dirty. And M and I went off and got a puppy just a year and a half after our first was euthanized. For us, the cuddly presence of a pup outweighs the inconvenience. (Most of the time.)
I have heathen friends among families of devoutly pious people. I have brilliantly successful friends among families of underachievers. Social butterflies among social misfits.
Obviously, these relationships cultivated our experiences. The process of pushing against these people and being pushed on by these people defines us. Unfortunately, this process sometimes reduces me to my adolescent self. The alienation and friction evoke a petty reaction. They often transform me into a person barely recognizable to M. Often, the best I can do is to remain silent and brooding in another room (the bathroom?). Usually, however, sarcasm and nastiness are my primary weapons.
Other times, naturally, we are not divisive in such a dramatic way. Often, the differences manifest as dialogue and dichotomy. Often, we share more ground than we think. Often, I find my family's ideas thought provoking and insightful. Often, I find my sister and I coincidentally have bought identical products, clothes, or services. We laugh at the same jokes. We will email each other the same articles we found online independently. We talk on the phone every day.
So, how could we possibly be related to these people is not really a question I can answer. Why are we related to these people is far more interesting. Why? Because it's a test. And a reward. And it's that crazy, feathered nest from which we eagerly flew on our first wings. And the cuckoo's nest to which we must occasionally return. And because psychosis skips generations. Or because thriftiness runs in only the men of your family. Or because God, or Thereisnogod has a sense of humor.
And the best answer of all to these familial differences: egg nog.
Bottoms up.