As I sit in the sleeper, many feelings wash over me. It is here that I get to be close to the people who have been with me my entire being, and a couple even before I began being. While I am close with all three of the people in my family, I feel a special bond with my mom. I'm not sure if it's a fortunate thing or not, I suppose it depends on the situation, but she can always tell how I'm feeling. This is fortunate when I'm having a rough day and am feeling and am too stubborn to initiate an conversation about my problems. It goes the other way if I'm ever trying to lie about something. Thinking about my mom makes me think of a lab I did in bio today. We cut up little thin sheets of tree and tested the genetic makeup of red wolves to see which would be most suited for doing the deed. Apparently, the more variance in the DNA of the parents ensures a higher survival rate for their offspring. The DNA of my parents must have been very different, as I am now in existence and show no visible signs of making like a frog at this point in time.
Throughout my childhood, I was always very close to my dad. During seasons of competition, which happened to be every season for me, my dad would be the one to drive me to practices and even coached me in a few of them. He is a very serious and straight-forward guy, though he can have a very sophomoric sense of humor. He loves baseball as much as I do, though his alliances are unfortunately set with the baby bears, whereas mine lay with the shooting stars. Though you'd never guess it from meeting him now, he apparently had some crazy times in his high school days and into his twenties. I'm sure most of the crazy stuff you can imagine, he's experienced and lived through it, and then there are some stories his friends have told me that I'd never have thought of. However, these friends are also a few of the biggest taleweavers that I've ever met, so it is hard to know whether or not to purchase their words as fact. While they might be good at what they do, nobody can sell a lie better than my younger brother.
Maybe it's the fact that he's been in theatrical events his entire life, but I think my brother could keep a straight face when telling a complete stranger that the night light in the sky blew up and we'd be living in perpetual darkness after the sun goes down. I don't know if it was the constant rebellion that eventually wore my parents down or the fact that they just love him more than me, but he gets just about everything that he wants. Like most siblings that I know, he and I never got along very well until my senior year in high school. At this point in time, he and I are even discussing sharing an apartment my junior year of college. Living together can be difficult. In fact, it is said that you never really know a person until you live with them. Apparently most people at least give a modest effort to contain their more disgusting habits around even the closest of friends, yet force them to live together and eventually this effort is worn away. Perhaps this is why only people who truly love each other are willing to put up with these nasty habits, and this is why, I believe, we must love our families. I may be completely wrong, but I don't think that to be the case. This much I do know: if ever I'm in desperate need of a relaxing and refreshing weekend, I know my family will always be willing to make the drive down and pick me up.
