Family argument in Chicago [Taken from Live Spaces Blog, 22 febrero 2007, 0:06]

I wrote this on the afternoon of January the 11th, 2007:

I find solace in writing these personal remarks upon a subject of much controversy among my family. I found my mother and sister both crying in the kitchen today while I was entering our small house/basement here in Chicago, a sight not unusual since my sister occurred to perform a certain feat which spelled devilish rebelliousness for my parents. I usually act unconcerned, and hope for them to work their own problems out for themselves, but as they have been following this sporadic routine for years on end now, I really barged in this time.

-"Oh, come on! What's wrong with you this time?", I asked with blunt disapproval on my face. My sister turned to face the floor, while my mother looked at me with tearing red eyes, and then quickly dodged her face. I was standing, fully clothed for the winter season, in the narrow corridor that connects to the main room. After testing their situation by watching inquiringly for a few seconds, I walked out of sight while slowly removing my warm outfit. This allowed me time to listen to several motherly advices given to my sister, upon which she made no reply. They were, as I expected, discussing the "Condor" case.

I'd listened to these conversations before, so I already knew what result it always turned: a heartbroken and angry mother, and a mostly silent daughter who spoke only in bursts of emotional despair. I saw in this discussion an opportunity both to help and to examine the nature of a family argument, so I took a wooden chair from the main room, took it through the corridor, and finally budged it into the kitchen alongside my mother and sister, while all the time they looked at me like I was nuts.

-"What are you doing?"
-"I want to listen", said I.

Obviously taken aback by my polite intrusiveness, they kept silent for a few moments. But then my mom continued to speak softly but chokedly, which she always does when she gets sentimental. She explained the whole situation again to me, as if I was new to the family. I interrupted her several times as I explained to her that I already knew what the situation was about. She appears injured every time I interrupt her about anything, but I'm caring less each time she does. I have better things to do than to listen her rave about without her considering my patience. It's really an awkward thing to pretend to be interested in something I already know the details about.

The conversation went like this: my mom gave her arguments as to why she thinks "Condor" is a maniac, and consequently, why she and my sister shouldn't be together. She sounded a little outdated when she declared that having seen the movie "Hannibal" was a sure symptom of mental illness. I tried to smooth things out by putting things out as clearly as possible, you know, by getting my mom to the point when she started raving, and by objectively rephrasing the totally biased questions that my mother asked of my sister.

My sister seems to have made up her mind: she's leaving the house to live by herself around Easter. My mother rotundly disapproves of it, but I can see my sister's point (even if not her logic). My parents show such insecurity in all of their actions, that merely being their children is always an awkward situation.

Now, the discussion lasted about twenty minutes, with me speaking both as interpreter and as the person who put out the facts clearly. I summarized my mom's endless rants, and insisted upon my sister to say what she had in her mind. In the last awkward silence of the discussion, I put in a certain opinion I had in mind: "There is a great generational breach here." My mom asked me to repeat it, and just after I did, she jumped up from her little kitchen seat. Her face was red and swollen and covered with tears, even more so than during the argument. She cried "I don't want to be here any more!" in a choked voice, and stormed out of the house, slamming every door she found on her way. I presume she stormed on upstairs with my uncle and aunt, since she had no winter clothes to go outside with.

It sucks to belong to such a dysfunctional family. I know there are worse, and much worse, but it still sucks.