“In order to be irreplaceable one must always be unique.”
- Coco Chanel
I can't believe it! It happened again!
Let me take a moment to catch my breath before I explain.
Phhhhewwwww.
Here's how it goes. You're born. You grow up to be your own person and inevitably someone comes up to you and starts talking.
No, that is not the problem. In fact, I love it when people just out of the blue strike up a conversation for no apparent reason.
What the problem is, is that they tell of how they remember me way back when; how much fun we had together riding motorcycles or playing the guitar and so forth.
I don't quite remember this person but they seem so happy to have seen me that I nod politely and smile until the thought finally clicks in my head - they think I'm my brother.
This scenario happens all the time and from what I hear from my brother, it happens to him, as well.
Please don't get me wrong, after years of intense therapy I can openly admit, I love my family.
We put the “fun” in dysfunctional and the “norm” in abnormal. But being from a big family you can start to feel outnumbered.
The thought that crosses my mind is that perhaps we have never quite been formally introduced. So let the healing begin.
Hello, I'm Bradley Molloy. Nice to meet you.
So, how can someone get my siblings and I confused? Here's your answer. I'm the youngest, at least as of last count, 13 children. Remember the show “Eight Is Enough?”
Well, obviously, my folks didn't watch a lot of television.
Now before you start wondering about the dynamic of how that would all play out, let me just mention that no, we didn't all live in the same house, or necessarily have the same sets of parents, more to the point, you could say that I have more steps than a tap dancer jacked up on Red Bull.
From whole-brothers, half-sisters, and step-siblings, we cover the gamut of the hyphenated nuclear family. It can be confusing, I know. I've seen the looks on people's faces when I'm explaining why Kelly is my sister's sister ... but not mine.
I've actually been known to have to make a flow chart to sort this all out for people.
But that's the way the world is today; your an odd one out if there isn't some type of strange geometry used when drawing your family circle.
With all the second and third marriages going on, people are finding that tracing your roots means cutting through a lot of branches just to get to the trunk.
I suppose I shouldn't be too upset with people getting us confused, though. Being the baby of the bunch I should expect a few hand-me-downs.
I just didn't think they would be memories.
Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here, each
Sunday, in The citizen.
He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com
I can't believe it! It happened again!
Let me take a moment to catch my breath before I explain.
Phhhhewwwww.
Here's how it goes. You're born. You grow up to be your own person and inevitably someone comes up to you and starts talking.
No, that is not the problem. In fact, I love it when people just out of the blue strike up a conversation for no apparent reason.
What the problem is, is that they tell of how they remember me way back when; how much fun we had together riding motorcycles or playing the guitar and so forth.
I don't quite remember this person but they seem so happy to have seen me that I nod politely and smile until the thought finally clicks in my head - they think I'm my brother.
This scenario happens all the time and from what I hear from my brother, it happens to him, as well.
Please don't get me wrong, after years of intense therapy I can openly admit, I love my family.
We put the “fun” in dysfunctional and the “norm” in abnormal. But being from a big family you can start to feel outnumbered.
The thought that crosses my mind is that perhaps we have never quite been formally introduced. So let the healing begin.
Hello, I'm Bradley Molloy. Nice to meet you.
So, how can someone get my siblings and I confused? Here's your answer. I'm the youngest, at least as of last count, 13 children. Remember the show “Eight Is Enough?”
Well, obviously, my folks didn't watch a lot of television.
Now before you start wondering about the dynamic of how that would all play out, let me just mention that no, we didn't all live in the same house, or necessarily have the same sets of parents, more to the point, you could say that I have more steps than a tap dancer jacked up on Red Bull.
From whole-brothers, half-sisters, and step-siblings, we cover the gamut of the hyphenated nuclear family. It can be confusing, I know. I've seen the looks on people's faces when I'm explaining why Kelly is my sister's sister ... but not mine.
I've actually been known to have to make a flow chart to sort this all out for people.
But that's the way the world is today; your an odd one out if there isn't some type of strange geometry used when drawing your family circle.
With all the second and third marriages going on, people are finding that tracing your roots means cutting through a lot of branches just to get to the trunk.
I suppose I shouldn't be too upset with people getting us confused, though. Being the baby of the bunch I should expect a few hand-me-downs.
I just didn't think they would be memories.
Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here, each
Sunday, in The citizen.
He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com