Easter is rolling around this Sunday and coming from the strict religious background I come from, it is difficult at times. Not because my parents still require me to meet them at church (even though I’m 23 and would think I can make religious decisions on my own) at 5:30 in the morning for sunrise mass, but because of the traditional Easter breakfast.
See, my family has a tradition of Easter breakfast where we all get together (my married sister’s in-laws included) and rejoice in a wonderful Easter breakfast prepared by my sisters and my mom. My dad, brother in law, brother in law’s father (I don’t know, is he an in law of mine as well?) and I sit around the breakfast table usually discussing politics and what is going on around the world. Still, this I can stand and actually enjoy hearing the wisdom of the elders and expressing my opinion a bit; after all, I am up to date with world issues and enjoy discussing them myself. No, the part I despise most comes after breakfast.
After breakfast, after my brother in law’s mother has had her twenty minute rant about every controversial topic under the sun, my mom and I usually step out to the back patio and delight in a morning cigarette. This has, for some strange reason, turned into my mother’s interrogation room. She hounds me about where my career is going, asks me why I won’t move back home, and the grand daddy of them all: Why haven’t you found a nice girl to settle down with? Then she goes into a diatribe about the countless daughters of her friends that she thinks would be perfect (been there once and done that, not going through that again…side note: don’t ever let your mom set you up with someone) and that I need to settle down before I no longer have nothing exciting to offer. I constantly remind her that I am only 23 and that I have many good years ahead of me.
Inevitabely at some point, my father steps in and asks a couple of simple questions and then tells my mother to leave it alone, that I’ll “find someone when he’s ready.” I always loved my dad for that.
All these shenanigans end when I thank them for breakfast and tell them I’ll see them in a week or so. They bicker about how I should stay longer, but eventually give way and allow their only son to leave the nest again. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and I suppose everyone has their own holiday horror stories, but that is what I have to look forward to.
So I hope you all have Happy Easters or Happy Passovers or Happy Sundays (depending on your orientation) and enjoy your families.
There is one thing to look forward to on Sunday besides the obvious, The Sopranos and Entourage return!
Read Full Post »
The Nice Guy 