My brother

My brother Curtis called today, probably in response to a letter I wrote him this past week. We hadn't spoken in some time, so we had a good long talk. He's suffering depression related to the heart attack he had last year, and although he was supposed to have stopped smoking, apparently he hasn't. He says he weighs about 300 pounds and he's about 5'10" or so. He's diabetic, too, but I didn't even ask about that. He keeps trying to outsmart the doctors and pretend that he isn't really diabetic and doesn't need to check his sugars or take the medication. Stubborn fool. It's not like he lives a stress-free life. He's a prison guard!

He also told me something sad and tragic. His new son-in-law (his sixteen-year-old daughter's husband, the guy she married when she thought she was pregnant) is now in prison for having sexually molested one of Curtis's granddaughters (Tassina's oldest, age 6). Once again, the family curse--white trashitis?

I don't know why I make such a concerted effort to keep in touch with my family. I do love them, and I care about what happens to them, but sometimes I just want to "divorce" myself from all of them and their problems. My family members are poster children for the saying "They who do not know history are doomed to repeat it." The same old crap keeps happening to them, generation after generation, and they don't see the pattern. They seem incapable of interrupting the addictions, the abuses, and the attitudes to make better lives for themselves.

My other brother Delmer has three children. His oldest daughter Stephanie lives in Texas with her shackmate (why bother getting married, right?). They have three children. The guy regularly abuses Stephanie, and she runs home to her mama and daddy a time or two a year. Then she goes right back and gets pregnant again. This girl is in her early 20s.

It's so hopeless.