It's a family tradition to go to dinner at my grandmother's house for all major holidays. After the meal ends, the youngest children retreat to the basement to play game cube, while the remainder of my family withdraws to the living room. For several years, I would remain at the empty dinner table, reading whatever book had caught my interest. I'll never forget the day that this all changed. My aunt came into the dinning room, sat across from me and proceeded to share some loving words. Staring at me intently, she said, 'Shut that book and talk to me before I hit you with this fork!' My aunt might as well have held my head underwater and told me to take a deep breath.
Much to the despair of my garrulous family, not once have I felt the need to question my quiet disposition. I've been content to remain the attentive listener, saying nothing, but hearing everything. With this contentment came the wonderful, incessant, and false accusations that I was 'antisocial.' To which I responded with a silent smile. There was a time when I foolishly believed that my family would accept my preference for muteness; however, they seem to believe that I truly desire continuous harassment to encourage me to speak. In my opinion, I'm the only one who has adapted well to the familial talkativeness. What would be the point of all these voices if there weren't someone to shut up and listen?
My silence isn't the only thing my family finds perplexing. I'm the odd one who screamed 'NO!' at 1am, because an anime character was horrifically killed. 'T'it's just a cartoon,' my sister had insisted. After which, a pillow managed to fly and hit her on the head, in hopes that some sense would be knocked in to it. I'm also the strange one who suffered separation anxiety when my beloved computer, Steve, was shipped off to Dell for repairs. I'm the weird one who transitions to a nocturnal biorhythm during the summer, so I can listen to music, read, and write without the presence of my dear siblings, who seem to think that if I want to be alone they should come near me and make as much noise as possible.
My family doesn't completely misunderstand all of my oddities. They're well aware that my 'happy place' is sitting in one of the black comfy chairs within Borders, specifically one that is outside of the manga/comic/graphic novel aisles. I've realized that reading a book of any greater length would make it extremely difficult for my parents to pry me from the chair. Fortunately, complete understanding is not needed, and as they learn to accept my eccentricities, I have hope that one day I will be able to remain silent without being threatened with eating utensils.