My mother was adopted, but no one will tell her so. At the age of 21, I have more life experience, more culture, and more understanding than either of my mother's sisters. Her remaining brother, I will not even mention, for you cannot see me roll my eyes.
I could have left the conversation. I could have gotten up and walked out of the Hospice Care room that houses my grandmother while she transitions to non-existence. But I chose not to. I think this may have been unwise. They were all talking about "lesbians" and, I am not ashamed to admit it, I cried from frustration later, after leaving. There is no excuse in my mind for that kind of ignorance and general stupidity. And I do not care that they were raised differently than I was or never forced by circumstance to change their long-held and ridiculous views. It would be pathetic if it were not so offensive.
I am easily frustrated, and I realize that. However, I am not easily offended, and I have never been this offended in my life. At least I can argue with my uncle. I can yell at him and tell him I think he's wrong. I don't have that kind of relationship with my aunts.
Thus I will repeat for the millionth time. I am not having christmas with this family any more.
I am offended for myself, for my friends, and on a completely different note and for totally different reasons, I am offended for my mom. All the stories her sisters tell about her are the same. I hear the same two stories every time I see them. And they're not flattering. "I remember when you took me to dinner at that restaurant and they brought the fish out and it still had eyes in it!!!!" (Once, my aunts accused my mom of trying to feed them weeds because she had gone to her garden to get lettuce for the salad. They'd never seen real lettuce before. Only iceburg.) "I remember wehen you took us to that jewish dinner thing and there were lesbians there and they were kissing and rubbing each other's legs!" (This story was what sparked the long conversation this afternoon.
And no, they don't know I'm bi. And yes, I do feel like screaming it at them on occasion. But I think I'll just not talk to them, in stead.
this is a funny hairdo.
I could have left the conversation. I could have gotten up and walked out of the Hospice Care room that houses my grandmother while she transitions to non-existence. But I chose not to. I think this may have been unwise. They were all talking about "lesbians" and, I am not ashamed to admit it, I cried from frustration later, after leaving. There is no excuse in my mind for that kind of ignorance and general stupidity. And I do not care that they were raised differently than I was or never forced by circumstance to change their long-held and ridiculous views. It would be pathetic if it were not so offensive.
I am easily frustrated, and I realize that. However, I am not easily offended, and I have never been this offended in my life. At least I can argue with my uncle. I can yell at him and tell him I think he's wrong. I don't have that kind of relationship with my aunts.
Thus I will repeat for the millionth time. I am not having christmas with this family any more.
I am offended for myself, for my friends, and on a completely different note and for totally different reasons, I am offended for my mom. All the stories her sisters tell about her are the same. I hear the same two stories every time I see them. And they're not flattering. "I remember when you took me to dinner at that restaurant and they brought the fish out and it still had eyes in it!!!!" (Once, my aunts accused my mom of trying to feed them weeds because she had gone to her garden to get lettuce for the salad. They'd never seen real lettuce before. Only iceburg.) "I remember wehen you took us to that jewish dinner thing and there were lesbians there and they were kissing and rubbing each other's legs!" (This story was what sparked the long conversation this afternoon.
And no, they don't know I'm bi. And yes, I do feel like screaming it at them on occasion. But I think I'll just not talk to them, in stead.
this is a funny hairdo.
Or you could try to find ways to subtly remind them that such statements only reflect their own stupidity.
Cute hairdo.
Your family seems to know, magically, without having to try, how to make me not want to like them.
Boo.
I'll try, though. I promise.