I Must Be Adopted

Hello World,
I didn't write yesterday b/c I got sidetracked by Thanksgiving. Along with not getting to write about why my job sucks balls (tomorrow's rant?), it also reminded me once again that I most certainly must be adopted. (For the record, I kid... but I really am that different from every relative I know. Read on to see just how different.)

I have a large extended family. There were 68 of us at T-Day yesterday, and the general sentiment was disappointment over the small turnout. We rent out the basement of a church. We have 3 long tables of savory foods & 3 long tables of desserts. We eat in shifts. You get the idea. There are a lot of people there, and I swear to you I spend every Thanksgiving feeling pretty much alone.

This year I decided to wear a fun shirt. (See the pic). Pretty witty, I thought, and pertinent. Plus, I reasoned, it would remind all those cousins of mine that I'm an author, which most continue to forget from year to year. *grrr*

As the day wore on, I kept count of the results. A total of 13 relatives, all above the age of 20, took the time to read the shirt. Exactly two of them got the joke. One was my father. The other was a fellow teacher. And the other 11, you ask? I had to explain it of course, and probably 8 or 9 of them STILL didn't get it.

*le sigh*

Not only does it stand to reason that my creativity stands alone within my genealogy, but I'm apparently also one of the very few with anything beyond a modicum of understanding of the rules of the language we all share. This is not exactly surprising, but it is disheartening. It's hard to go through life knowing your chances of feeling success are limited by your own family's ability to understand what you do.

I recently came across a poignant quote from Charles Schulz, the brilliant yet humble author of the Peanuts (Charlie Brown) cartoons. He said "[People] forget that I not only have to do some drawing. I occasionally have to do some thinking. It's hard to convince people when you're just staring out of the window that you're doing your hardest work of the day."

I couldn't have said it better myself. The majority of my family are farmers, a profession I respect inherently. But they work with their hands, not words and papers. I am a black sheep in that church basement, and the gap gets wider every year. 

It's not that I can't or haven't found acceptance elsewhere... my friends and colleagues are invaluable to me... but it does mean there is a large part of the American Dream that I'll likely never achieve.

[Insert plug for comments/ followers/ fans here].

Woefully yours,
-K.

Ps: Yesterday's Writing Results... Nothing. But the day before I started this blog. Go me.