We're Family, Not Friends

I once read somewhere that one of the great things about family is that it forces you to associate with people you normally would avoid. That statement is so true. I hang around my family more than the average person. Some people think its great. That it means we all get along really well. The truth is, if I were to meet most of them as strangers on the street I wouldn't stop to talk to them long.

If I saw my dad's red truck parked some where, with its Texas A&M Corp of Cadets, American Flag and NRA stickers on it, I would probably turn and run the other way. But sense we are related, he's the guy I cooked dinner for yesterday. He's the guy who let me, an unabashed liberal, do laundry at his house. Sure, I rolled my eyes when the man, who was literally counting down the days before he was eligible for medicare, raged about the evils of socialized health care. And he, of course, told me to lighten up after I cringed and told him that, among other things, his racist Obama jokes weren't funny. Even though we don't see eye to eye on anything, we still managed to assemble a fake Christmas tree and play Monopoly together.