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|Reason # 1 To Boycott Your Life (standard:humor, 753 words)|
|Author: Joan Murray Cefalu||Added: Oct 21 2003||Views/Reads: 1820/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Women finds too many similairities between small town people in on town or the next|
When you live in a small town, there is only one bowling alley, one movie theater( if you're lucky) and one drug store. Have kids and your odds of running into the same people again and again go astronomical. You get so sick of these people. Events became so predictable you long to quit attending. You know the ones I'm talking about, the Easter Egg Hunt, The Pumpkin Carving, The Picture with Santa, The Mother's Day Tea, the Valentines' Dance...... one for each season, one for each Holiday, the communal marking of time . But the children couldn't or wouldn't see the pattern and wanted to attend each of these traditional events every year. There were several family who seemed to follow me. In this town at this time it is the same people, but their types seem universal to small community life of other places and of my past. The Win at Any Cost Family was one of them. They arrived at these events with all their family members and pets. This took a loud, large and oddly bright Rv to accommodate them all. These people won every contest or competition going back all six of their kids to the oldest ones who now had kids of their own. All the adults knew that the parents cheated. Their offspring's projects way surpassing the intellect or coordination of the supposed enlistee. Maybe because they were loud, or because they were always there, or maybe it was the sheepish look in the children's eyes as their parents forced them to accept the prize, no one ever confronted them. Then there was the Bitch Mom. The fates had blessed her with a truly perfect child. The girl was pretty and sweet. She got good grades in school and never caused any trouble. She lived in a tastefully decorated home where here mother threw her wonderful theme parties every year. She was head of her clique in school and destined for a perfect life. Except for one thing, the Bitch Mom. Somehow the woman had gotten it into her head that if she had conceived and raised this perfect being then she herself was perfect. And being perfect gave her the right to pass rude and unkind remarks about other mothers and children .She handed out advise, unsolicited, to anyone who would listen to her. She was at every event to steal some of her daughter's fame and to glower over the losers. And of course, the Demon Family, who seemed to have a troubled son in every grade in school. The oldest was either unemployed and drank beer in bottles on the stoop all afternoon or was in prison. Their house looked under construction with boards coming and going over broken windows and was as run down as possible and yet still looked lived in. Each boy was a behavior problem who arrived regularly at school, unwashed, hungry and looking for mischief. Often there was one older girl. She seemed to know the most about what was happening with anyone in the family and was much more accessible then the mother who was never actually seen, but could be heard yelling obscenities at the youngest of the brood from inside the house. There was a father , but he was never seen or heard from... One child was always at every event, never actually entered, just staying by the sidelines to see if free food or drinks were being offered and to instigate the other children to fun just outside the rules. They never won any prizes, but you knew a Demon child had been there There were other types too. The Single Dad who was trying too hard to have fun with his children in their few hours of visitation. The I Worked All Week Mom, who was trying desperately to smile and not nod out. And me. Forty years old , with two children , showing up at each of these events wondering when my life became someone else's short story. How have I become disconnected with my own life? Reason#1 to boycott my own life: I have realized I have become as bizarre and yet predictable as the home town caricatures I write about. And lately I have had the unshakable feeling that I am nothing more then the character is someone else's short story with no more control over my life, my life having been reduced to the episode I find myself in without a past or present, only a now. Tweet
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