CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse/Injury (Chewed on by animal)

I was visiting my aunt’s place with my father. My cousin put her sleeping baby into one of the bedrooms before joining us at the table. Not long after, the baby started crying, so [Cousin] went into the room for a little while before returning.

Aunt: “Was there anything wrong?”

Cousin: “Nothing I could see. She didn’t need burping or to be changed, so I just rocked her back to sleep.”

My father is always ready with his opinions. [Cousin] rolled her eyes as he started.

Father: “You’re creating a rod for your own back by spoiling her. Back in my day, babies were left to cry until they learned to put themselves back to sleep.”

Cousin: “Well, I don’t care what you think. I am not going to leave my baby crying. What if there was actually something wrong?”

Father: “She’s only in the next room. What could happen?”

Cousin: “Have you seen how [Kid across the road] walks with a limp?” 

Father: “Yeah. What of it?”

Cousin: “His parents were of the same opinion as you and left him crying in his cot — until his sister found that a rat was eating his foot. Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my child.” 

Father was finally speechless for once.

A cousin of mine is visiting over Christmas. She’s about four and in her “why” years. The grownups are clearly in that “last pleasantries before we go” phase of the proceedings.

Me: “[Cousin], let’s go get your coat.”

Cousin: “Why?”

Me: “Because Mum and Dad are leaving.”

Cousin: “Why?”

Me: “Because they want to go home.”

Cousin: “Why?”

Me: “Because it’s getting dark outside.”

Cousin: “Why?”

Me: “Because the solar apparent revolution will bring the night terminator above our time zone at umpteen firty, Greenwich winter time.”

Cousin: *After a long silence* “…Okay.”

My twelve-year-old cousin’s scooter disappeared. A few days later, the police call up and say that someone found it and brought it in, so I take her to the station to pick it up. She’s typically nervous with strangers but wants to try talking to the cops herself.

Cousin: “Hi… I’m here for lost and found… You have, my, um…”

Cop: *Not looking up* “Sorry, was that the scooter or the chainsaw?”

Cousin: “CAN I HAVE BOTH?”

My cousins and their father, my uncle, were visiting us. It was the last day before they left to go back home, and the plan was to choose a restaurant to eat at.

There was one problem: my uncle. Or, more specifically, my uncle and his desire to go for the nth time to the same restaurant we had gone to all holiday, which we had gotten kind of tired of going to.

Cousin: “Dad, why can’t we go to another place? [Restaurant] isn’t going to change the menu until fall arrives, and we’ve tried every single item.”

Uncle: “Look, I’m not going to accept eating any of your Chinese s***.”

Cousin: “That’s why we’re trying to find a compromise. Why can’t we go to [Seaside Restaurant]?”

Uncle: “Are you crazy?! It’s too windy there!”

Cousin: “Or to Grandpa’s favourite place, [Old Restaurant]?”

Uncle: “It’s dirty and run by classless monkeys now. I’m not wasting my time there.”

Cousin: “Maybe we could go out for a pizza at [Neapolitan Pizzeria]? They say—”

Uncle: “Pizza?! Who do you think I am, a football hooligan? No.”

I tried to save the situation.

Me: “I know of a Sardinian restaurant nearby—”

Uncle: “That’s no better than Chinese. It’s all exotic crap. F*** that.”

Yup. He went there and claimed that Sardinian was too exotic for him, a Neapolitan.

Cousin: “Okay, Dad, what the h*** does [Restaurant] make that’s so good for you?”

Uncle: “If you can’t guess that, I’ve failed as a father to teach you anything. C’mon, use your brain!”

Me: “Okay, [Uncle], here’s the deal: since my parents are paying, not you, you either accept a choice, any choice, that’s not ‘go to [Restaurant] for the hundredth time’—”

Unce: “Who are you to say this?”

Me: “—or you stay home and cook yourself whatever ultra-rare and ultra-traditional thing that place makes.”

And I left. We ended up going to a place somewhere in the hills: my uncle whined all night that his pasta alla gricia didn’t have the same pork cheek that his favourite place used and that his tripe was too watered-down, blaming us for “dragging him somewhere stupid” in front of my parents, who could only roll their eyes.

Related:
An Im-pasta-ble Demand

My younger sister is, if not exactly the black sheep of the family, still seen as a bit of a wild child by most of our relatives. Somehow, it doesn’t give anybody any cognitive dissonance to also think of her as a hopelessly naive babe in the wilderness. How they square this with her actual existence as a married professional in her thirties, I’m still not sure, but it all seems to have rubbed off on my youngest cousin. He’s in his early twenties, has never lived away from home (and his fiercely protective mother), and barely finished high school.

My sister is extremely fond of our cousin; it’s just a bit rough on her to have conversations like the following.

We’re at a party for the completion of [Sister]’s Master’s degree.

Cousin: “Well! That took you a while, didn’t it?”

Sister: *Pauses* “What do you mean?”

Cousin: “Just, didn’t it take you longer than it should have?”

Sister: “It took me four years, yes. I never said that I found graduate school easy. I’m lucky to have had the help and support that I did. Just like you.”

Cousin: “What do you mean?”

Sister: “Well, you had trouble finishing school, too, right?”

Cousin: “Yeah, but I finished on time.”

Again, she’s talking about her grad studies; he’s talking about HIGH SCHOOL.

A few days later, [Cousin] is looking around the condo [Sister] owns with her husband.

Cousin: “I mean, it’s nice, I guess.”

[Sister] and my brother-in-law live in one of the most expensive metro areas in North America because she can’t pursue her career anywhere else in Canada. It’s not at all comparable to the four-bedroom house [Cousin] lives in, rent-free, with both his fifty-something parents, in a much more economical area of the country.

Finally, one night over dinner, the conversation turns political.

Sister: “I’m saying that prison reform is an issue that the prime minister is ignoring. How can Canadians call ourselves better than anywhere else when we’re treating jails like a garbage heap to dump in those people we don’t know how to deal with?”

Cousin: *Chuckling* “Well, I mean, that’s a real nice idea and all, but let’s be practical here. When you think about these people, and where they come from… I mean, it’s sweet that you want to help, but really…”

Sister: “[Cousin], by the time I was your age, I’d been arrested three times for protesting. You’ve never been out of g**d*** [Suburb] by yourself, and your own mom had to badger you into voting in the last election. Do not try to pull that bulls*** head-patting act on me. I’ve had teargas thrown at me. The fact that I used to be your favourite babysitter is the only thing that prevents me from throwing your a** out the door right this second. Is that clear?”

There’s a long pause.

Sister: “Would anyone like coffee?”