Throughout my life, I have had one constant desire: a”normal” story. I want a story that is free from family dysfunction and drama and addiction and mental illness and workaholics and broken marriages. I longed for normal as a child, and I long for it today. And yet I know that normal is not real, it does not exist. It is not worth throwing my longing at it, but I struggle to let it die.
In the late 1980s, a local newspaper ran an article about my family following the birth of my handicapped brother. “We had it all,” my father was quoted as saying, “the kids, the dog, the fence around the yard.” Except we did not own a dog, and there was no fence. Even this reporter recognized we were short on normal and needed a few additions to complete our cover-story look.
In this blog, I will consider my clearly not-normal life in an attempt to put my illusions of normalcy to death.