family

There’s almost definitely a better way to begin this, but I can’t think of one more appropriate. Growing up is really fucking weird. One day you’re having a great time arguing if Doctor Doom would beat Darth Vader in a fight (he would,) and next thing you know you’re worrying about taxes and whatever a “mortgage” is.

Eighteen hours, even if prepared with reading and art material, snacks, and an upgrade to China Airline’s family couch seating, is still EIGHTEEN HOURS.

Best case scenario? A few hours of activity, then we all fall asleep comfortably. Worst case? Well, let's just say it involves blood splatter on those weird double-paned airplane window.

So many children who grow up in broken homes are fed this notion of family that comes with strings attached. We’re told if we can just be pretty enough, smart enough, quiet enough, obedient enough, good enough, then we’ll get the love we crave so deeply, as if family is something that we must barter for.

Spotted in: Downtown Santa Cruz