expectations

I have, what some polite people may call, an eclectic family.  Actually, I have, what I call, a crazy family.  And just when I think I’ve come to grips with my history, something happens to blow my mind.  Way more on that later.

I took a four-day jaunt to visit my family in NYC.  Yes, four days.  I actually don’t like visiting that particular branch, but not for the reasons you may think**.  They’re gregarious, funny, honest, and totally down-to-earth.  I have spent many a hour on the phone with my Aunt, in stitches from her daily commentary on life.  She can’t get through a sentence without swearing – and the kind of swearing that would put a sailor to shame.  I learned so many interesting ways to cuss while in her home.  Her youngest son is only a month younger than me: when we were growing up, we were inseparable.  We played Thundercats with such vigour that we broke beds, bones, and boundaries with equal panache.  He’s now about to be a father, something I can’t even begin to fathom.  My Aunt’s only daughter – whom they always just called Daughter (even in Christmas cards) – is pretty much a loser.  She abandoned her two eldest children almost ten years ago.  My niece and nephew, whose father is an equal deadbeat, were brought up by their uncles and grandmother.  They had a hard childhood and I always worried for them – this was the branch where no one had even finished high school, forget college.  (The boys all landed on their feet, they work crushing hours to make a decent living.)  The elder, my nephew, dropped out of high school.  No surprise.  I am very happy to report that he wrote, and passed, his GED.  He’s a talented boy, a tattoo artist and skateboard designer – but works in a Manhattan kitchen.  The younger, my niece, graduated this June.  With Honours.  Scholarships to schools.  Of course, I had to be there to see her get that diploma.  Not just me, but my whole immediate family.  So, no option for a hotel.  Stayed we did.

It was a lovely ceremony (all the way out in Long Island!), staged in a huge gymnasium for only about 150 kids (but at least 2000 family members).  Graduation is a big deal there.  For this school especially, which had gotten used to a 65% graduation rate before becoming chartered.  This year, they boasted an impressive 95% graduation rate, with almost 80% of those kids getting some sort of scholarship.  Wow.  Her future was bright indeed.

Was.

You see, on the surface, this is a feel-good story.  Fighting the odds to be the first high school graduate in her family – with honours in health sciences, no less – surely she would be fine.  But the truth is, this is a story about family values.  A story about the importance of caring parents, strong role models (both mom and dad) and the absolute need for boundaries.  Sure, I’ve gotten into my fair share of mischief.  Who hasn’t.  But I had a strong dad, one with a steely grip on my freedoms – just enough slack to explore but yanked back real quick when something untoward was happening.  Like, when I had a boy in my room and I had closed the door.  Never mind that he was my gay best friend, that we were sitting at the desk using the computer – that was the end of that.  Or how about when I got a henna tattoo on my arm at Canada Day; even after I showed him it was washable, he wasn’t happy until it had all come off.  My mom said it best: you had a strict dad and you didn’t really need one.  My niece does.  But it’s hard to be strict when you work 60 hours a week and are only about ten years older.  Even harder when you don’t live under the same roof.  And my Aunt?  Well, she was never much for discipline anyway.

So now, my niece, whose boyfriend has been sharing her bed for a month, has decided to defer her education (and lose her scholarships).  She’s decided to work as a cashier in the same Manhattan eatery as her brother.  When Dad tried to turf her boyfriend on behalf on my Aunt, my niece left the house and wasn’t heard from until she knew my parents (namely, my strict Dad) was gone.  I’ll give them this – no one ever talks back to my Dad.  He has a lot of authority.  He’s that guy, you know?  Boy, did she need that guy growing up.

I had wanted to help plan her first year away from home, make lists of things she’d need, talk about my own dorm experience and what she could expect.  I wanted to take her shopping in Manhattan – just the girls – and make a day of it.  I guess I had her frozen in my mind as that sweet nine-year-old who was so starved for affection, that she literally clung to me the minute I walked in; who asked quietly if she could sleep with me on the tiny twin bed; who delighted in berry-flavoured sparkly chapstick.  That was my mistake.  Turns out, she’s stubborn, rude, and dismissive – typical teenaged stuff that’s easily addressed by good parenting.  This is what happens when you don’t have parents looking out for you.

Who would have thought a family trip to NYC would become a morality play?

**Why don’t I like visiting?  In short – they’re slobs.  I’ve never been in a house that filthy.  And I genuinely think they try but actually have no concept of clean.  I’m a finicky person and thus entirely uncomfortable staying there overnight.  I’ve been to NYC many times, and am happy to take the E train to Jamaica-VanWyck for a visit.  That’s about all I can handle.