Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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My Barren Womb Last year my sister Melanie willed her four children to me. Being that she was widowed a few years ago and is currently raising the kids on her own, she prepared a will and appointed a guardian... I was the very lucky person to be given this charge. My sister's not going anywhere, hallalujah, which is lucky for more reasons than the obvious... Her children have got me totally figured out. In fact, Melanie gets great satisfaction out of appointing me legal guardian of her brood; she sees it as getting the last laugh. Last summer the eldest of her kids, Tony, called me in Vancouver to 'chat'. This sends immediate warning bells to ringing in my mind, since the kids never call me. It didn't take long to figure it out... "Hey Aunt Holly," Tony says with a smirk in his voice, "I got my nipple pierced." I have no idea when I lost my ground to the kids in this power struggle, but it has definitely occured much earlier than it did with my own siblings. I'm supposed to be the adult, and yet I am completely at the mercy of these four very unique individuals. I personally think it's the work of their father from beyond the grave... nothing would have given my brother-in-law greater satisfaction than to see me getting totally worked over by his kids. I never had a big brother of my own, but Sean came pretty close. He teased, tormented and infuriated me in ways that only a brother can, but at the same time, he was the one I could look to for support and encouragement; he'd kick anyone's ass who did me wrong, and always loved me like I was his own sister. And no one could kick their heels up to a good redneck country song like Sean; dancing with him at weddings is possibly what I miss the most. Losing him was a tragedy for our family that will never fully heal, I think. But before he left us he gave us three wonderful, beautiful souls that could never be replaced. Whether or not it would be hell, whether Melanie did indeed get the last laugh and the kids drove me to drink, whether I lost all my hair and aged prematurely as a result of the stress of it all - nothing could make me more proud than to be entrusted with the guidance and nurturing of these four people who I've loved as my own since the first day I met each of them. Certain members of my family are absolutely convinced that I will have children of my own one day. They say that I can't be complete without this, and that I shouldn't resist that which is inevitable. Others continue to hope that I'll ultimately decide this is the path I want to travel, but quietly bide their time - waiting. If I were to be entirely honest, I would say that I don't feel a compulsion to have children of my own; I'm happy to have the nieces and nephews that I have in my life, and know that if I can be a part of their lives and do right by them, that will be enough for me. Besides, like I tell the family, it would be irresponsible of me to have any kids of my own, since I could inherit four from my sister at any time. Right? Ultimately though, I think it's probably my own selfish nature that prevents me from having the desire to breed. I just don't know if I have it in me to give everything else up for a child; backpacking, spontaneity, freedom... sleep. Is this wrong of me? I've always been a bit of a black sheep, so why start fitting in now? Part of it is also that I'm terrified it won't suit me; then what do you do? It's not like kids come with a return policy or money-back guarantee. "Yes, hello. I'd like to exchange this child for another one that listens more and cries less, please..." Not to mention that I'm just not very good with kids. When my first nephew was born, I was holding him when he did one of those spastic, squirmy, flop things that newborns do and somehow just folded in half backwards. I thought I broke his back and paralyzed him at 1 month old. In the entire 16 years that I've been an aunt, my siblings have asked me to babysit twice since then. That says something, doesn't it? Combine this with a tendancy to freak out easily (i.e. when I see a kid in a tree) and a totally uptight nature, and you've got a guaranteed recipe for a fucked up kid. No thanks. I'd rather stand on the sidelines and heckle the people who have tackled the challenge of parenthood. |