homecoming

My sister is planning a “reunion” for us when we visit America in a week and a half (yikes!).  She is always on top of this type of planning.  She planned my engagement party, baby shower, and now this.  She has the family scheduled to take photos as well. 

I think in the past I was always suspicious of her motives.  I appreciated the parties, and I am continually amazed at what she can cook up – but I can’t help but believe its somewhat out of her own self interest.  She can plan and watch from a safe distance.  Get in contact with people on my behalf instead of hers, see how people react, what they say, what they do, what they bring.  She becomes the popular host, and if anyone “rejects” the invitation, it isn’t her they are rejecting but me. 

Writing it down, it now sounds a bit silly, but I still believe it.  I know my sister and I know as tough an image as she gives, her emotions are egg shells.  I know her, because she is me.  She wants to control everyone and its under the guise that its for a good cause, or someone else, etc. 

At the same time, I don’t doubt her intentions.  I’m sure she waited for Tolga and I to get married before she and Mike did (one year later) out of honor, because I am the older sister.  The same feelings are ingrained into me about my older brothers.  It’s very touching, considering that we have never had that sister relationship that I’m sure we both idealize in our heads.  Some people that know us, laugh at our rivalry - but I have never found our rivalry funny.  Instead, it has always been heartbreaking to me.

She sent out the evite the other day.  I didn’t look at the list of invitees, something I’m sure she would have done immediately.  Instead, I looked at the card and smiled to myself.  I found the idea of reunion a bit over the top – as if we had been gone for a long time or were not returning. But then, I as I thought about it - I remembered when I first moved to the East Coast - away from everybody.  I started my life there no connections - which was a big first for me.  I wasn't in university either - I had to make my own community and I had to be really brave.  I had never realized how much of my identity was linked to my family until I moved to a place where nobody  knew my father/brother/etc.  No one could connect to my experiences.  I didn't mind it - but it surprised, because I always viewed myself as independent, but then I would catch myself talking and saying things like - I don't know about my cars, but my brothers.  Or, yes I'm a Christian, I grew up in the church - my father says this, my grandmother says this, my brother does that - I watch from the sidelines.  In fact, while I thought I had my own story in Minnesota, it wasn't until moving to the East Coast that people only go to know me - and none of my roots.  How strange it was - I felt like a star in some ways.  I was an actual person apart from my family.  Without their teasing, or laughter, or intimidating personas - I started to be more.  Without them, I doubt this confidence or bravery would have been groomed - with them, it couldn't be practiced - away from home, I realize how free I had become as an adult.  The farther away from home I was, the closer I felt.  

So naturally, when I came home from New Jersey - I have to admit, I kind of expected a huge party.  Balloons and everything.  I mean, the star had come home.  I thought a reunion would be fitting.  I mean, I wasn't away at college - I was away beginning my new life.  

But for my first visit home - Christmas, only a few months after my leave - and many of my visits after that - my family kept up the tradition of sending a friend to pick me up at the airport.  I guess I wasn't as important as my new realization had led me to believe.  My parents actually were on vacation for one of my visits.  I didn't speak to them for about 5 minutes when they came home.  They knew I was mad, and thought it was funny.  I was trying to hold out.  They came around me eventually  - one on each side of the coach and apologized for not being home when I was.  I broke then, and said half through tears, half through laughter, "It's just so hard when you love your parents more then they love you."  We all laughed.

So here's my party - balloons and all - my homecoming.  It's perfect.