Our Very Own Uncle Fester

I have a couple of simple truths that I maintain are true in all cases, no matter what the situation, or who your family is or where you work, or whatever. I've mentioned a few of them here in this blog.

One of my longest, oldest, most tried and true statements is: There is one in every family.

One that needs more. One that disappoints. One that stands out from the rest in some way that makes you squirm. One that sucks the life out of the rest of the family. One you are always explaining away. One you don't mention in polite circles. There is always one of those. No matter who you are, or where you are from, or how privileged you may be, there is someone in your family that to some degree, fits that description.


There is one person (at least one, some families have a few...) who fits that description in their own family, for their own family's standards. The person might be very talented and high functioning by other people's standards, but they are the misfit in their own circles. Hell, the Kennedy's had Ted.

And there are those who fit that bill no matter what circles you run in.

Enter my brother. Nice guy, (admittedly debatable, but I'll leave it at that) but as we know, nice only gets you so far in this world. And you'd have to be really really really nice to overcome multitudes of other shortcomings. At some point, you have to demonstrate a little talent. Or take control of the reigns and run your own life responsibly. Or, convince everyone that you could navigate your way out of a paper bag without a GPS or a call to your mother. My sister and I live in perpetual amazement that our brother has managed to get to his age without having cleared an astonishing number of these socio-developmental hurdles. He is a pair of cement shoes on our collective emotional buoyancy.

He recognizes no boundaries. He has no decorum. He only marginally comprehends most adult interactions and situations, no matter how uncomplicated and free of subtleties, and he has no ability to manage even the simplest most straight forward vicissitudes of life. A simple erroneous parking ticket may drag on for months and rack up fines and penalties before he can manage to either get the attention of the person who can correct it or pressure my mother into making a few loud, irreverent phone calls. ( I swear he is the reason she chooses to live 9 hours or a plane ride away)

Don't even get me started on the three ring circus that was the purchase of their first home. It nearly sent me into premature labor.

Today, he's managed to cross another line - and true to form - deny any responsibility for his actions. I swear, if you give him the benefit of the doubt and treat him as though he is not a child, he freaks out, wants to make sure you do not get comfortable with THOSE expectations, and has to royally, gloriously, outrageously, even defiantly, demonstrate his complete inability to handle the pressure. Today was one of those days.

There is a huge media frenzy taking place this week. It's a golf tourney with all the shiny golf elite involved, and it is being played at a course that quite literally abuts my sister's property. Her home and yard are wildly attractive on the best of days. This week, they are the Holy Grail to anyone who has ever taken even the most modest interest in golf.

She has welcomed people to her yard, given them permission to park, cooperated with neighbors who have planned to entertain with the tourney as the main attraction. J. and I are welcome, and so is my brother.

But understand that my sister is not a big fan, has an out of town family reunion weekend to participate in, and will not be home for all the brew ha ha. House is locked, alarm is set. Yard is open, but the house is off limits. We have all been duly informed. Go before you leave the house.

But my brother knows no boundaries and assumes those tidbits of information are a sham...meant for others to abide by but clearly his to ignore.

And while my sister is toiling away in her Summer home deviling eggs, and chilling wine, and carving watermelon, her son gets a call from a friend at home.

"Dude, are you on XBox Live?"

"No," replies my youngest nephew with the artfully disheveled hair. "I am at the cottage. Technology free weekend."

"Thought so. But dude, someone is on your XBox."

Someone is in their house? With throngs of people crowding the properties surrounding the perimeter of the elite course, my nephew is very concerned, and mentions the call to his father. Who in turn calls me.

Does he call the police about an intruder...or do I call my brother to ascertain that it is not him first?

I am unflappable and calm. There is no intruder. Some Lilly Pulitzer clad golf enthusiast has not broken into my sister's home and made him or herself at home a la Working Girl.

I know it like I know my own name. It is my idiot brother taking liberties he is not welcome to take. Again.