
Walking straight out of this reunion.Last week looked at the notion of found families. Whether Belie and the Beast are found family with their servants but another query is the family reunion. How do found family family reunions work?
Do they have to put up with entering a rented room and immediately being met with a pair of beady eyes from the scornful mouthed matriarch? A woman who can say what she likes because no one ever stands up to her because she’s old and we respect our elders. But she’s been old since before you and your parents were born. You all had to learn to talk while she was steamrolling the vile out her tunnel with ease. A bony finger beckoning you to hear your first backhanded comment of the event, generally appearance based or possibly a guilt trip in mentioning last time they saw you. It could have been the day before but it’s never enough.
You make your way to drop off your contribution to the coveted buffet. You’ve lived with some of these people you know their horrid concoctions conjured at 2am for a snack. The staples of every buffet sits, a limp salad, and sandwiches, of ham, cheese or ham and cheese cut into small triangles. If you’re vegan, well there’s the limp salad. Undercooked chicken legs dripping red juices dangerously close to the salad mind you. The lack of any meat on them suggesting even when dead those chickens were jealous of Battery farm chickens meal plans. You didn’t want to put the effort in just like everyone else so your bowl of boiled eggs sits next to the four other bowls of boiled eggs. You question if you’re related to Gaston but no, that blessing is not for you.
You turn and there’s Janice. The cousin who believes her own delusions of grandeur yet her vision isn’t utilised at the mirror with makeup worn to be noticed at 100 yards. Naturally the implication of your contribution isn’t as good as her own by way of blatantly telling you how little effort you’ve put in as they lecture you about theirs. A woman so poised on appearance naturally she took up the role of decorator, Paper chains testing the will of cheap tape against stark walls. Claims to have got her kids involved, although they’re well into their teens and would know how to fashion tiktok decorations rather than hastily glued newspaper rippings in the car. Balloons litter the floor for the ‘balloon drop effect’ In truth we all know her kids did get involved with that craft as their son tweeted about their experience of a night on helium.
You look around at where to sit and notice the genetic divide. The smaller side of the family huddled into the corner while the larger side spread across all available seating but still somehow position a perfect goal defence for the music system as they blast out Now 90 thinking its hip. A CD provided as a gift for the Matriarch for their 90th. They’re not a fan but its 90 and she was 90 so it was quirky, fun and thoughtful. As opposed to your digital photo frame with a curated selection of old photos you spent weeks digitalising. But she has those photos already so why did she need this? You regret your decision of taking off the 50p charity shop sticker off the CD to not ruin the effect of the gift being something special.
Then the bar opens and the spongers start their grazing. ‘It’s been years’ they say, ‘I hardly recognise you.’ Its hard to recognise someone when all introductions at every life opportunity is met with this is name they’re a different names kid, you know different name they’re a different different names sibling. Or was it cousin? Well you know Uncle so’n’so he only had to shake hands. You barely know these people but you brought your own bottle of wine and made the mistake of not hiding it in your bag. You relent to the eye to your glass contact and pour out a little in a plastic cup meant for soft drinks ‘oh half measures.’ This will then be your name at every future gathering.
The mingling gets freer as drink smuggling continues but every half hour a big display is made of someone buying the Matriarch a drink and only them a drink. The loos are already blocked and the condom machine broken with the hilarious note of ‘keep it in the family’. You’re accosted on your way back by siblings you’ve tried so hard to avoid all evening. Such an event requires a public humiliation and naturally it’s going to be yours. Be it the regaling of a mistake made of a child not realising the glass door was in fact closed or not being able to find the caravan site facilities in time after a four hour road trip there and your need couldn’t be met by way of bottle or can. These are the acceptable blows though unlike the blow that caused Sibling 1 to go to rehab and Christmas party antics at the office that led to Sibling 2’s firing and soon to be divorce.
Marriage, varies depending on who you bump into. Your spouse will either be ignored or you will get the inevitable children comments. This divide is created by people who were invited to the wedding and those who were not. The Matriarch although invited still settles on only talking about the first love from high school who you nervously introduced her to once because they saw you snogging in town. You know they have a successful Only Fans about model trains but dare not bring it up because you don’t want people to know you dated a non popculture nerd and in case Janice whips out hers and everyone has to act so surprised as she doesn’t seem the type. Your spouse has no name or personality this evening, only a function and that function is adding to this dire decentary. To the point you feel you’re both the booked entertainment and the floor no one is dancing on is the stage for exhibition. A cult ritual of cheering on the next generation. Glancing at the children blaring Charlie roman numerals out of their phones and taking sips out of random plastic cups sitting around, you almost have a sense of obligation to save this train wreck of genus.
Questions, certain relatives and so many unwanted cheek kisses dodged, you manage to get out of there and vow never to do it again. Until the next invite comes and your conditioned guilt complex kicks in.
What’s Belle got to put up with, the will they won’t they of the candle and the clock? Probably the crushing PTSD of being furniture for years. Maybe families and found families share trauma bounding.
Families are all different yet somehow stereotyped into relatable familiarness rather easily through personality traits.
Which brings us to this week’s poll –
“If Willow was one of the seven Dwarfs which one would she be?”
Doc – Sparkly plaque of leadership.
Grumpy – The brave little toaster dances not in joy.
Happy – Tara is just hers, how could she not be happy.
Sleepy – She really chokes up in her sleep.
Bashful – The smiles, the babbles, the evasiveness.
Sneezy – I think she sneezes one time. Or maybe that’s Buffy. Someone has to sneeze in seven years otherwise Sunnydale has a new mystery.
Dopey – Who wants to kiss rocks?
Doc, She wasn't the most admired leader in series six but throughout Willow has signs of being a great leader. In high school placed as a teacher. Second in command to Buffy. Leaders aren't always at the top. as she grows her emotional control and matches it up with her smarts, she'll be a fine lead to all those who look to her for guidance and the people she aims to help. She has a long way to go and needs to acknowledge others strengths around her in admiration rather than rivalry but work out those blocks and I'd possibly follow her.