In 1996 I was Ten. . .

. . . and my family still thinks I'm 10.

After only one evening, not even a full day, just an evening, with my family. The majority of the jokes at my expense, the majority of stuff said to and about me, all point to one thing -

No one in my family can name a single thing that I have done of any merit since I was about 10 years old.

Given, my mom did make leaps and bounds and made it into middle school age with mentioning that I did play Magic the Gathering, however quickly snubbed any success in that one fact with the statement quickly after it telling me that I should just give them all away, and/or just give them to my nephew who doesn't even play and is collecting Pokemon cards. (Seriously, and let's be honest here, we all know that MTG is, and always will be, significantly better than anything that Pokemon puts out)

No - I will not play the song that I played in my 4th grade talent show.
No - I will not sell something that you wanted me to sell in 6th grade.
No - I don't want to be here.
No - I refuse to answer to Bobby.

Quick note on that last one. My brother in law's name is Adam. The solution, according to my family, is that instead of forcing the person who is not even actually blood related to us to go by his middle name, or call him Adam 2, is to either;

A) - Call him Adam 1, and me (the one who's been Adam the longest in their lives) Adam 2.
B) - Let him be Adam, and rename me to Billy, Bobby, Jim, or anything else that has nothing to do with my name.

Let's talk about how annoying it is to be called by the wrong name by your family.

Let's then talk about how annoying it is to be called by the wrong name by your wife.

Then, let's wrap things all up with talking about how frustrating it is when your wife goes off about how she thinks it's totally unfair to me how my family is treating me and how she can't believe my sisters would ever do that to me, in the car ride back to the hotel, AFTER complaining that she doesn't like the thought that my parents are paying for our hotel.

Really?

Seriously?

Really?

First, you're upset that we're getting something paid for, and you're acting like that is the most offensive thing to happen in the world? And then you try to act like it's a shame that my own family doesn't call me by my name as a far second runner up? And THEN you try to cover your own butt by saying that you can't believe that my family would ever do that to me?

Let's go out on a limb and do some rankings here.

1- my wife calling me by the wrong name after seeing how upset it made me.
2- my family calling me by the wrong name although they saw how much it upset me.


and


then


way


down

here

after

everything

else


that


happened

today
 
1,000 - My parents paying for a hotel room, for all of the kids to use, and us using it the first night as planned in the schedule that was set up two months ago, and that makes you feel like my parents are paying for everything, when in all reality we shouldn't even be on this trip because we don't have the money to pay for it.

Sure, let's go with my parents trying to help out making us look like we might not be financially stable (which we are not) being more of a drastic thing than my own family not recognizing that it is not 1996, or the common courtesy of calling their brother/son by his actual name. 

You want to know why I write? Today I remembered why I write. I write, because when I write I have a voice. When I write there's no mistaking my thoughts or opinions or what I want to do. In the real world, I can answer the same question 10 times and get overlooked because I'm just silly uncle Adam and he doesn't matter. In the real world my opinion, and my voice, mean nothing. I can say all day long that I don't want to be here, that I don't want to be on this trip, that I don't like my family, that I just want to have a normal Christmas, that I don't want to be on the road for 20+ hours in the next two weeks, that I want to prep for my classes that I am scared solid to even stand in front of, or whatever is actually on my mind. In the real world, my voice means nothing.

 When I write I have a voice.

When text hits the page and I am the one who put it there, you are listening to me. You are hearing my voice, and for someone who is never heard, that is heaven. Writing allows me a privilege that I never have in the real world, an audience who will listen. That audience might be strangers on the internet that I've never met. It might even be strangers in France (I see you there on my reports France, I see that you're still reading this stuff), but at least my voice is heard by someone.