Melski

I had one of those weekends that feel as long as the Titanic movie. Going home is supposed to be a relaxing experience, but almost never is. Not in a bad way, I suppose, it can just be full.

I'm a sometimes involved, wish-I-was-more-involved, family member to my two parents, one sister and three brothers. So going home always means trying to spend one-on-one time with each one of them, making sure I give them some words of wisdom from Toronto (which often was less wise and more dom) and eating as much expensive food from the fridge as possible. Inevitably, this leaves little room for homework.

What I don't realize most of the time is how much these visits can mean. I was there when my older brother needed to tell someone he is moving out next week before he broke the news to our parents. I got to see my little brother Nathan win two soccer games in a row, and see my other brother Curtis coach one of those games. I found out that on my Dad's new diet all he was eating was soup, so I found recipes for him that had some substance. Meat, Dad, you can still eat it.

What was most amazing about my time spent with my family is the realization we all came to: every one of us is called Melski by certain people. I guess there's too many of us to remember first names.