Family ... what more can I say?

Yes, I have a family. Three brothers and one sister (all older). An abundance of nieces and nephews and, last, but never least, my Mother. It is hard to know what to say about these people ... they are, putting it nicely, uniquely characteristic charicatures(?) My Mom was 18 years old when she had her first son (practically a child, herself) and since she lost her own parents by the time she was 10, she really didn't have much of an example to follow. Hence, us. My eldest brother, let's call him "Nicky wannabe" was influenced greatly by the classics (The Godfather 1,2 and 3, and Goodfellas). He will argue with you, to this day, that DeNiro and Scorcese are "mobbed up". Unfortunately, we came from a section of New York where these types really did conduct their business and my brother "Nicky wannabe" was lured in like a fish to a worm. Long story, short, he is living incognito after running away from the witness protection program where he was, also, living incognito (is that an oxymoron ... I can never tell). This is a man who had to beg the feds to take him by convincing them that he must know something about someone they wanted. It's always so sad to see a grown man beg to be a rat. Sad. My middle brother, the one most like me, the tortured artistic soul with never enough self-esteem to try and do anything creative. In fact, the one time he tried to create, I call it his dark, introspective period, he collaborated on a great addiction to heroin with the heroin doing most of the creative parts. Now, junkies in general, are not an attractive bunch. The grunge, the lack of desire when in comes to personal hygiene and the, out and out, desperation make them some of the least desireable people to be with. But, when your eight years old and, directly, related to one, you find, there's very little room to hide from this thing that used to be your cool brother. Crappy times when your just a scared kid, but when he was straight, he was my idol. He introduced me to the Beatles, the Stones, and The Who. He gave me copies of "The Little Prince" and "Lord of the Rings" (when I was 10) and told me "Frodo Lives" and I believed him. He introduced me to the world of Doonesbury and explained who "Duke" really was. My middle brother was my door to that other realm where life didn't suck that much. Or, he was, till he lost the key in a drug induced stupor and by the time he found it again, I no longer needed his help to get there. Now, there is too much guilt between us. His for not being there when I really needed him and mine for resenting a new family he needed to finally straighten him out. Never let unspoken words get between two people and linger for years. After a while, that mountain becomes impossible to climb. My next brother is straight. So straight, I believe he has trouble relating to the rest of us. Well, I guess there's one in every bunch. My Sister ... my sister ... what can I say. Susan the brave, Susan the strong, Susan the non-label. When she was very young, doctor's said my sister was special. They said she would never learn like other children and her social and emotional skills would always be much lower than the norm. Schmucks. My Sister was the only one of us to "really" graduate high school (no GED). She has held down many different jobs, can be totally self-sufficient and lives with the same boy-friend for 15 years. Yea, she's special. She's special because she loves me unconditionally and looks up to me (though I am 4 years younger) as if I'm some kind of God. She wants to be like me (read what I read, write what I write, and do what I do) which puts a certain amount of responsibility on my shoulders that these poor old things simply cannot withstand. I love her, dearly, but it is hard to be someone's idol when you know in your heart she's got the wrong lady. So, I guess you can say she's special, just not in the way those assholes thought. And, that rounds out the immediate family. There are others, but that's for another day. I have always told my children, you can't blame your whole life on your parents, but , Hell, you can, certainly, without a doubt, blame who you are on them. I know I do. So what, don't we all?