The Blues

No Bullshit

On July 24, 2010, in Family, music, by Rosie

Being part of a family can mean many things. There’s that whole love/hate situation, there’s having to share stuff. There’s the whole obligation to be ‘somewhere’ on consecutive days because a birthday falls on the 25th, another on the 26th, then there’s Father’s Day that weekend.

All this interspersed with laughter, tears, affirmation, hurt, growing up, being put-down, knowing your place, trying to find your spot in the scheme of things.

Then, there’s teasing.

(Apparently) it builds resilience, helps you cope, enables your strengths to come to the fore …

Since many life-altering events in our family, we’ve adopted the motto ‘no bullshit’. It might seem harsh, but it means we can say what we need to. If this entails having to say NO to some things, then so be it. I modify the ‘no BS’ catch-call for the elderly, suggesting to mum and dad that it’s ‘no pressure’, only to have Mum turn around and say ‘don’t you mean no bullshit?’ back at me. Good grief. Next she’ll be saying ‘up your cutter, futter!’

Having just reminisced about old songs with some friends at LiveJournal, it seems to me that BS lingers in many families around the world, and it often takes the form of TEASING. NOT THAT I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH TEASING, MIND YOU!

One LJ mate told of her sibling having throat surgery at a young age, bearing the scar and then telling their friends-in-common (teenage, groovy friends) that her sister was a psycho. She tried to slit her throat, hang her in the cupboard, murder here. Another mentioned that her brothers played a scary song over and over, only to enjoy seeing their younger sibling’s frightened face!

Similarly, I was a victim of sibling teasing. NOT THAT I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT. NOT THAT IT’S AFFECTED ME AS AN ADULT. *rocks*.

My sibs had an old record player with one, small, squat speaker. They had several records I loved, including the song about me (coz it was always about me, even as a young person):

However, one of my siblings’ sports (apart from netball and putting their wisps in front of their ears) was to play a song about a dog howling as he waits (everyday) FOR HIS MASTER TO RETURN WITH A BONE. BUT THAT MASTER WAS DEAD. AND YOU COULD HEAR THE AMBULANCE IN THE RECORDING FFS.

Look! I’m fine about it now, forty odd years later, but the healing has only come after eldest sister Cassandra (she of Biggles the Bunion) confessed that sometimes they put the song on in front of friends, urging me to cry so I could be comforted. Jeez. No wonder my brain is like a porous page of blotting paper, absorbing the problems of the world.

Not that I BLAME ANYONE. I wonder if there is an expat in Singapore who remembers the time, hmm? In fact, I think she was probably less likely to tease, focusing more on her anticipated career in opera singing.

Nowadays? No bullshit. Still, the linger of a tease, the echo of a fight, the wonders of a hug, the support of arms that have held you since birth? All part of the community of family, and thank goodness for that! Thank God for you all.

Bitches!