Passenger Story

I hate going to family dinners- mostly because my extended family is crazy. I mean I guess I love them, cause aren’t you supposed to automatically do that? Ya know, blood is thicker than water that whole thing. Anyway, I wanna go home. I sacrificed my Saturday night to go to my uncles’ birthday dinner and I’m the only person under 50 and over 5.

I’ve just been observing my family’s behavior for the past hour since their conversations consist of things like world war II stories or where to buy the best birthday cards, and I don’t really have that much to say about these topics. I notice how they all have to talk over each other to make sure everybody hears their point. My dad always has to make conversation, there can’t be any silence when he’s around. My uncle Paul chimes in every once in a while with one or two words that don’t really contribute much, something like “yup, that’s for sure.” My aunt quarrels with her brothers about who will do the dishes or who spilled candle wax on her table.

Without my cousins or brother to talk to, I’m just a passenger among another generation’s dinner party, who are too infatuated with their own stories and opinions to notice.