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I dislike my family. Not the people in my family, but rather the fractured shell that my family has become. This dislike is felt most especially during the months of November and December. Holidays used to be my favorite time of year, but no longer.

A little backstory… My mom and I moved out of the house that I largely grew up in on my dad's birthday, July 20, 2001, almost a month to the day after I graduated from high school. That day was chosen — not out of spite — but simply because it was the only day that the people that would help us move were all available. I can still remember the last night in the house I grew up in, and the profound sense of sadness that I felt, and still feel, when I think about it.

My dad re-married last year. He married my buddy's mom: someone I've known since ~4th grade. He's a close friend, and she's a nice lady. I rather like having him as my step-brother, even though it's a largely superfluous title since we'll never share the same roof as siblings do growing up. Nonetheless, it is a relationship by marriage that I rather like.

However.

My dad married his mom on November 6, 2004. Which is my mom's birthday. Yes, my dad re-married on his ex-wife's birthday. Wonderful. However, it was not done out of spite — despite what my mom would like to believe — it was done because it was the only date that they could rent the place the ceremony was held at without waiting for another six months or so.

So there you have it. We moved out on his birthday and he re-married on my mom's birthday. That means every November 6, I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. Being in two places at once is difficult. And November 6 isn't even the holiday season yet.

The holidays come, as they always do, and once again I'm torn between two families. Where do I go? What do I do? Staying home with my mom reminds me of what we've lost: we're a broken family. Being with my dad and his wife's relatives reminds me keenly of how much of an outside I am, and precisely what I'm missing on those special days.

I don't like being either at being with my mom at home, and I don't like being with my dad and his family. Which is probably why I'll work 8-9 hours this Thanksgiving. This isn't fair to either one of my parents, but I always split my holidays between the two of them anyway, and Thanksgiving is my dad's holiday this year. Since he's got a family now, I don't mind skipping out so much, even though I know he'd prefer to have me there. But I don't care to be there. Or anywhere around here.

So I'll probably go work at the pharmacy, with friends to whom no emotional baggage is attached. This is a reason that I want my own family so badly — to have a place to be and to call home at this time of year. I firmly believe it is the people that make home what it is, not where you live or the lifestyle you lead. The only place I like being during the holiday season is with my Aunt and Uncle out in South Dakota, with my half-sister and half-brother. That's the only place that really feels like home during the months of November and December.

I love the people in my family. All of them, regardless of how they're related to me. But I hate what my family has become: we are now the thing I pitied among my friends growing up. I am fortunate that it happened so late in my life.

I hope it never happens to my children. If I ever have any.

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