I was born in the early nineteen eighties, to a couple that had without a doubt both escaped a mental institution; long before any proper assessment could be done. They way I imagine it, is that they fell in love in captivity, both refusing to believe that they were crazy, and collectively hatched a plan to escape.
I was born into a circus, but not the traveling kind. I was born in the kind that stays in the exact same location, with the same damn people. I have ventured out on my own from time to time, checking out what else my country has to offer, but have always landed back in the same region as the circus I call family.
The circus is a lot of fun, if you’ve ever been to a circus. Aside from the clear animal rights violations, there are bright lights, lots of noise, crazy rides and shows meant to blow the mind. Visiting with my family is like going to the circus. It’s whimsical and you are sure to laugh and enjoy the time there; from time to time witness insane acts of emotional drama and you will eat popcorn.
It’s fun for you, I know it is, as I have seen the looks on the people who stop by as they leave the house. They are fully entertained, and are rushing home to tell their friends of the sights they saw. Sounds amazing doesn’t it? The only problem, is that I live the circus, I don’t just visit.
The result of years of exposure to such ridiculousness, and having anyone involved in my life witness the freak show within my home, is that in the end, I turned out to be a freak myself. Not the cool Indy trendy type of freak, the circus type. I’m not yet at an elephant man level but I am at least on the track to bearded lady.
My mother always says, “normal is only the setting on a dryer.” She has used this line on me a million times, to comfort me when I realize or am faced with the reality that I am indeed, not normal. I'm quiet a bit off when you look at it. A bit to the left, up a step and down the hall. That's me. It's not my fault, it truly isn't. Growing up I didn't have a chance. I was surrounded by Maniacs.
If my family had a crest it would read “always inappropriate,” and if my friends had a corporation it would be named “DysfuntionsRUs.” I am surrounded by full on lunatics. Not only was I born into a family of deranged individuals, I have chosen to spend my time outside of that unit meeting, interacting, befriending and falling in love with crazies.
The messed up part, is that I love it. I love them. I love the family I grew up with; they are nuts but they are also nuts about me, in the best and most supportive way. I adore the insane and wonderful friends that have come in and out of my life over the years, especially the true gems that I've kept. I also have strong feelings, good ones, for all the other randoms; the therapists, doctors, police officers, co-workers, tourists, teachers, clients and random grocery store shoppers who have touched my life in ridiculous ways. If it wasn't for them, I would not have so much material to write about, and life would ultimately be dull.
We all have maniacs in our lives, and if you think about it hard enough they have added the zest to your being. They have helped mold and shape you into the person you are today, expect you probably only had a few in your family, so I am guessing you turned out normal. Which may I remind you, is only a setting on a dryer.
My immediate family hails from a city near Niagara Falls, Ontario (that’s in this place called Canada) where the population is aging, the donuts are plentiful (we are in fact the donut capitol of the world, or we were at one time) and a place named the Fattest City in Canada 2004. I often wonder if the the latter has any relation to the first two. It is the birthplace of Trivial Pursuit, and houses the University that I graduated from.
The city is near rural and urban areas, which placed us smack dab in the middle in a land called suburbia. I know, complete yawn right? Not exactly. I though it was a wondrous place when I was a child. In fact, because outside my window all I saw was a ravine, I thought we lived in the forest (despite having been out on the roads in the neighbourhood many, many times).
I lived on a circle, so that tells you a lot to begin with. Who the fuck lives on a circle? When you’re a child that translates into enjoy riding your bike around the circle. Whoopie freakin crap its the same thing over and over. I tired of it by the time I was twelve after all.
So, we lived in a two story house on a circle next to an open ravine, with a nice sized backyard and a tree in the front for climbing. I made it all the way to the second branch once myself. It was very ideal for raising children, a surprising rationale idea from my parents.
My family always had a cat that went outside and caught animals in the nearby wild area, which I also tried to rescue, each and every one. The cats in our household were as crazy as the people I call family, and to boot always female, despite my fathers pleas. He was completely outnumbered with my mom, my older sister and I. My sister has since remedied this by getting married and having a beautiful baby boy, my nephew, the chubbiest cutest and stinkiest kid I’ve ever met. Not because he is not bathed, he’s beyond well taken care of (my sister researches everything after all) but because he inherited his fathers ability to fart, like a champ. My brother in law is a champion, and my poor sister now has two. But I am not sure why I went there, so moving on.
My extended family lives relatively close for the most part, all coming fully equipped with their own levels of insanity. I don’t mean one side either, both sides. My father’s parents were from Ukraine and my mother came over from England when she was four (not on her own of course, you crazy person) so when you think about it it’s a global mix of insane.
Our family has seen some interesting times, and we live close in each other lives. Sometimes, maybe a bit too close. My family is like the close talker, your interested in what they have to say, but you just wish they would take one step back.
My family does not appear normal on the outside, we do not hide our insanity well. It is known to all neighbours, co-workers and friends that my family is all kinds of ridiculous. It’s usually what draws people in, and keeps them there.
I may sound like I am exaggerating, how exciting and interesting can a middle class white suburban family be? It was never really a good start to any great story, but I think my family breaks that mould. I also think, everyone’s family does in their own unique way. In my case, we are indeed an example of how you simply cannot follow stereotypes to be true.
The good in my life has always outweighed the bad, and in no way would I want anyone to misconstrue what I a am about to share, I love my maniacs. I just wish, that the only battle I was fighting in the quest to normalcy was the space cadets that surround me, sadly, it's not. There are even more terrible things that face me on a daily basis, things that add to the crazy and take it in strange directions. Like a North South type situation.
The first of two such items is a terrible curse. I call it the Opportunistic Spectacle Curse or OSC. I warn you not to confuse it in my family with OTC, which indicates upon phone call that the family member you are looking for is currently On The Can and will call you back.
Example:
LB's Grade Nine Boyfriend: Hi, is LB there?
My Dad: She's OTC, taco night, can I have her call you back?
LGNB: OTC?
My Dad: On the Can, is this ____ (fill in name any that was NOT my boyfriends name)
LGNB: click
OSC makes its victims consistently finding themselves the center of unwanted attention, at a cost to their dignity. It is my understanding that the curse was passed down from my family, and almost all of them are carriers. Don't worry, it's not contagious, it's genetic.
The second item that plagues me, is a medical condition. I come from freaks, I fall down a lot, and to top it all off with a giant red cherry, I suffer from a very serious case of Spinstosis. (Aka Chronic Singledom). I can't say it's from my family, part of it is choice, the rest is associated with a series of unfortunate dating experiences. I know it's not genetics, as some of my family have successfully landed spouses (although none of them are normal).
That is the short version background of what I have been dealing with for the last thirty years, but I stress how glorious it has been. I am no longer embarrassed to a point of wanting to sink into the floor anymore after years of practising “how to laugh with them.” I am independent in my Spinstosis and have reunited with Saturday morning cartoons, and despite the insanity my relatives provide, they always do it with love. I am one lucky girl (it's just not always good luck).
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