I don’t think you have ever met my family, la familia de Madalynne, The Flanigan Family. It’s a large and certainly messed up one, myself included, but whose family isn’t?
First, there’s my immediate family. Paul is my dad and I call him Brain. He and I, Pinki, try to conquer the world every day. Although we fail to take over the world like the cartoon characters, we always try again the following day. Michelle is my stepmom and she married my dad almost two years ago and about four years after my mom died of breast cancer. I’m lucky to have had two mothers in my life. When Michelle and my dad married, I gained a brother and a sister, Nick and Kirsten. Although Nick and I have very little to talk about (his uniform is Bears t-shirts), Kirsten VERY much reminds me of myself at her age. She’s fourteen.
Then there is my brother Gerrit who only called me when he wants his pants hemmed (yes, he sends them to me in Philadelphia) and then there’s James.
James, good ole James. D boy is what I call him. He and I were cut from the same bolt of fabric yet not. We share so many similarities yet are so different. Our relationship is truly unique, one where our Skype dates involve playing the air drums and surfing classiccarliquidators.com.
My dad was the loner child who moved to Florida from Philadelphia to escape the cold, the grey, and the wet winters and he came from a family of six sisters, all of who have large families themselves.
This past Thanksgiving, The Flanigan bunch came together for the holiday – touring the city of Philadelphia, visiting where I work, and playing our annual kickball tournament. From Wednesday through Sunday, my dad, stepmom, brother, aunts, uncles, and cousins sucked the life out of my with lots and lots of fun. By Sunday I was pooped but wouldn’t have traded the trip or the time I spent with them, not even for a bolt of very expensive fabric, a vintage handbag, or a Kate Spade handbag.