Are we seriously related? Really?
I generally try to avoid writing about my family. Mostly because I find it hard to be nice. I don't remember just how old I was when my parents trusted me at home alone. But I do remember spending countless hours searching the house while they were out. Peeking in every box, behind every piece of furniture, rummaging through every bit of paperwork I could find looking for proof that I was adopted because I couldn't believe I was actually related to these people.
I called my dad tonight to ask him about the status of my crazy grandmother's health and was met with a lecture. My father resents the fact that he is the head of the household and never lets an opportunity pass to tell me so in a most passive aggressive way.
So I hung up on him. Maybe I'll check with the county records for those adoption papers.