I just learned that my brother reads my blog. This is touching to me on a number of levels, the first being the obvious realization that my sibling gives a crap about what I’m doing and will subject himself to reading my self-indulgent blatherings in order to keep up.

After the years of working to ostracize my family when I was stupid, adolescent, selfish and perpetually drunk, I’ve sort of settled into the belief that I’ll always sort of be the weird black sheep of the family. I completely understand why, in the years of aftermath since, their hesitation to bother with trying to be a part of my immediate life - let alone subjecting themselves to any more of my self-centered antics - has been palpable at best. The common (and often justified) belief that real change can’t happen in anyone is enough to keep most people at bay and, through the way I’m treated and perceived at family gatherings, I’ve sort of learned that this is the bed I’ve made for myself. I’m pleasantly surprised and touched to see that my past hasn’t permanently run off everyone who matters to me.

I guess what I’m saying is that while spoken forgiveness is wonderful, evidence of it is levity-inducing.