Families are Complicated.

A few weeks ago, I had to pass through the town where I lived during my elementary school years.  This is not a place where I call home, but it is a place where my family lived for a number of years.

My kids asked if we could see my old house and I decided it might be enjoyable to see my old stomping grounds.   As I drove through the gates of the old neighborhood, I felt my chest tighten up and memories came flooding back.  My kids who normally hate sight seeing, were fascinated by seeing the places where so many stories took place. They have grown up hearing stories of my childhood, and storytelling is something that I loved to do.  I showed them the former homes of my friends and the spot where we used to slip onto the golf course to have water gun fights.

They loved seeing my old elementary school, where Thelma, the world's scariest secretary worked,  and enjoyed seeing my old house.

As for me, I stood in front of my house and felt a myriad of emotions, most of them weren't good.  This house was the epicenter of Crazytown, my family wasn't very happy here.  I'm not sure I could pinpoint a place where my family was happy, we just weren't one of those happy families.  My mom did the best she could, but the more years that go by, the more questions I have for my mom.  Memories keep popping up with holes in them, but she isn't here to answer them.  I'm not sure she would have answered my questions truthfully anyway.  Some things will have to remain a mystery. 

Here is the big lesson I have learned in my lifetime.  Families are complicated. 

And that is okay. They don't have to be perfect. 

I've made my peace with my family history, for the most part.  Things were crazy within my family, but it's in the past.  I can't change the past, but the things I can take with me are the crazy stories that my children love to hear.  So, I'm hoping to introduce a new feature on my blog.  Greetings from Crazytown, the stories of my childhood.  They will be mostly entertaining stories about growing up with eccentric parents, such as the time I was convinced I was being abducted by aliens.  Or the time where the can of Peanut Butter flew through the window.  Or if you want a sample of one that was already written, you can learn the reason why I was the "butt" of all the diarrhea jokes in Jr. High. 

So next time your family makes you want to throw your hands up in the air or commit a crime, just remember, Families are complicated and that is okay.