The Fiction of Us: The real reason living near your parents is (would be) great
I had an epiphany the other night.
It happened while DH was announciating with great bravado how he exemplified the perfect child, and I got to thinking that there is no such thing as a perfect child. Trust me, I know, because I am the closest thing to that there is.
There’s this great old saying, “Remember your roots.” I used to think this was a warning against discounting the foundations that help make children into whatever they become as adults, for better or worse. However, in recent years, I’ve had to reevaluate this saying. We never separate from roots, or we risk an emotional or intellectual death lest we are able to replant ourselves in a timely fashion and in a fertile garden. (I know, I’m killing this metaphor with the tenacity of a Hashsahsin warrior.) What I’ve decided this idiom is warning against, on the other hand, is that if we ignore our foundations, we risk creating a fictional, detached version of our reality. And who better to remind you of all the ways you were never the person you thought you were than having family nearby to strike down your crazy fascinations?
This also explains why I think I’m so awesome. I live 2000 miles from my nearest relatives.