You can’t choose them. You inherit them in a genetic lottery in which there are more losers than winners.
Parents are a peculiar case the world over. Everyone has some friends whose parents are top-class and we grow up in a perpetual state of parent-envy. My friend Ciara is one of those people. My friend Jill is another. Their folks are legendary. When it comes to our own parents, they are never perfect in our eyes. We are privy to their foibles and have been subject to too much of their ‘advice’ so it’s hard to see that they have our best interests at heart. My parents are equally as imperfect as each other and just as flawed as me. We argue and look out for each other in perfect measure. I deem it to be family-balance.
As far as the sibling stakes go, I did well. I have one brother who I adore. That’s the jackpot. A kid brother who is a best friend, sparring partner, sound-board and most kind individual. We argue often and well, which is a global standard for red haired siblings.
As for Aunts, let’s just say, you win some and you lose some (or in my case, you genuinely wouldn’t mind losing some). Aunts in law are great, but do they count as bone fide relations? I don’t think so.
In the draw for Uncles, I did ok. I have a couple of outstanding ones. I mean Uncles who would win awards if there were awards for Uncles. and as well as those Nobel winning Uncles, I have a bunch of sound ones too.
The same goes for cousins, some are total winners, the majority in fact. These brilliant people more than make up for the couple of absolute luadars sprung from the family tree.
I think the solution could be written in the stars. There’s a lot to be said for space travel – more specifically, sending your ‘choice’ Aunts along with your ‘luadar’ cousins off in a rocket to space. I heard that some trips take a hundred years. Wouldn’t that be marvelous?
-Have you heard from X, Y or Z lately?
-No, they’re on their way to Mars. They don’t land until 2118.
Think of how peaceful it would be! A gossip free family zone without the backbiting, and the acid jealously and the dumb fuckwittery of the few that affects the many.
Dear Richard Branson,
Please help make my dream come true and send X,Y,Z on your next space mission.
Yours, relatively speaking,