Listen, we all have our weird childhood stories.
The ones that we tell on the third or fourth date to gauge whether this relationship could get more serious, the tales of familial dysfunction that reveal our own inescapable flaws, those embarrassing yet vital moments in the formation of the imperfect, weird people we are now.
I personally could regale you for hours about my long lost Uncle Uriah, a sensitive, nature-loving soul that I never met but felt a great kinship with over our love of large trees and rescuing stray animals. I took great solace that there was at least one blood relative who could really understand me, and I wrote in my journal about the travels I would take one day to visit Uncle Uriah in the treehouse where he lived in the jungles Uruguay. That is until my dad confessed he had totally made up Uncle Uriah and that Jews did not live in treehouses in Uruguay. It took awhile to get over.
Read More: @ yoyenta.com
You might also like: