As I sit here on the train, making my way back home, I am both fearful and excited. I come from a very big, very close Italian family that I love very much. I have a bunch of older cousins who go to various colleges but I’m the only one who hasn’t been home in the past three months. I’m the only one they haven’t seen, talked to, or interrogated. Part of me is dreading Turkey Day because I know that, as the only girl cousin in the family, I will be getting a lot of slack from my male counterparts. For me, Thanksgiving is going to be a crazy, fun-filled shitshow complete with familial bullying, drunk aunts, and the random girls that my cousins feel the need to bring home in their desperate attempts to prove their attractiveness.
As a girl who considers herself to be close with her family, I was actually very excited for this past weekend. I had cleaned my room, looked up some good restaurants, and even called my parents to tell them how excited I was for their impending arrival. I was probably over-prepared for Family Weekend, but I soon realized I was extremely underprepared for my actual family.
The weekend started off well enough and was marked by an exchange of hugs, questions, and a plethora of winter clothes. Then, to my surprise, my mother revealed the Saturday she had planned: a trip to Newport that included a historic tour and play. The a capella concert I thought we could see was going to have to wait. My family piled into our Honda and soon began the journey to Newport. I knew the weekend was heading in a bad direction when my brother began to lecture us on the benefits of wrestling and my dad lost three parking spots to the more aggressive Rhode Island drivers. Tensions were running high and my mom’s overzealous attempts at keeping us all on schedule weren’t helping.