Having been raised by my mom and her family most of my life, I often call myself the black sheep of her family.
First of all, I don’t look anything like my mom or her family. I look more like my dad and paternal grandmother with brown eyes and slightly pale complexion as opposed to my mother’s family with their black as night pupils and brownish-yellow complexion.
Almost none of my mother’s trait got inherited, at least none that I know of. I suppose it was the reason she had been saying for years of getting our DNA tested to make sure I’m really her daughter. We got our DNA tested, all right, and that got her to shut up about the possibility of me not being her daughter because the evidence was right there in the spit.
Meanwhile, my dad’s strange habit of never climbing into bed with dirty clothes on and his love for photography and writing somehow became my love.
One thing I know I don’t have is my mother’s fiery temper. I swear that any little thing can trigger a tantrum – screaming, shouting kind of thing. I’ve seen it with my mom, aunts, and cousins.
If you are a follower of this blog, you will know I write about my family a lot and most of it are complaints. I don’t know how I withstood them for so long. No clue how I can tolerate such childish behavior and horrible tempers.
I’ve been told once that I am a tolerant person. I have also been told my dad has a mild temper as well. I wonder he was as tolerant as I am or was my level of tolerance build from the years of living in an emotionally challenging environment?
Theme: Of all the things I am
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