You Should Always Put Family First 
First runner-up is okay too.
The sentiment Family comes first—and its implied addendum, no matter what—is an aspect of the social contract at which I’ve always taken umbrage. That’s not because I don’t love my family. I do, and I think most of them are pretty fond of me, too. But I believe that love and respect should be consistently earned—not granted in perpetuity on the basis of having passed a single DNA test.
Sure, biologically speaking it makes sense for families to “stick together through thick and thin” so that their line is more likely to survive and thrive. That’s Evolution 101, and also the plot of all the Godfather movies. And yeah, I see why parents who showed unconditional love and loyalty to their helpless child while raising him up into the world might expect similar unconditional love and loyalty when they need taking care of by said child later in life.*
Look, I may be an antisocial anti-guru, but I’m not an asshole. If your family loves you and treats you with respect, love and treat them with respect right back. That makes total sense! I just happen to think the same should go for anyone you love and respect, not just the ones who populate your Ancestry.com account—and consequently, that family doesn’t always deserve automatic top billing.
The first section of this chapter is an ode to black sheep—those of us who are less a chip off the old block and more a large chunk, excised, rotated, and then reaffixed at an odd angle. If this doesn’t apply to you, or if you’re one of those sheeple but you and your family have achieved barnyard détente, that’s terrific. Next time I need guest gurus on the book tour, I’ll give you a ring.
The second is about making and executing tough choices when it comes to spending time with nonfamily over family, and then not feeling bad about it. “No” is an acceptable answer, even on the RSVP card to your cousin Jennifer’s wedding.
The third section is an antidote to all my anti-guruing. I know you might be reading this book because I have the temerity to say what you’ve been thinking—but have thus far been unable or afraid to express—about the many ways in which other people drive you up the goddamn wall. I’m happy to provide this service. But occasionally, I also like to remind my readers that there’s a lot to love about their lives, such as their wonderful friends—aka their chosen family. At the end of this chapter, we’ll celebrate them!
Bye, bye, black sheep
As you may know, the term “black sheep” originally referenced someone who had brought disgrace or disrepute upon their family. A troublemaker and/or an embarrassment—perhaps getting pregnant out of wedlock or getting caught becoming a little too familiar with an actual sheep on the neighbor’s property.
You do ewe, so to speak.*
The phrase has evolved to mean not fitting in with (and perhaps being shunned by) the rest of one’s family for any reason, not necessarily having gone so far as to bring disgrace or disrepute. If you’re considered by yourself or others to be the “black sheep,” it may simply be that you don’t like the same things your siblings like or value the same things your parents value, or that your freak flag flies a little (or a lot) higher than theirs.
Why doesn’t Steffie want to practice the religion the rest of us submitted blindly to from birth?
Why doesn’t Charles own a decent tie?
We just don’t understand how Miriam gets through the day with all those opinions about reproductive rights!
Maybe, alone among your cousins, you reject the view that infants should be invited to weddings. Maybe you opted out of the last three family reunions because fruit punch and passive-aggression aren’t your thing. (Definitely your aunt Kathy’s thing, but not yours. She’s almost as into Lowest Common Denominator Living as she is into proselytizing for her Baptist Book Club.)
Personally, I’m lucky to have an accepting clan. (Either that, or 90 percent accepting and 10 percent can’t be bothered to give a fuck about what I’m up to, which is also fine.) In that sense, this is probably the least personal section of You Do You, but it’s by no means the least relevant to many readers—especially the 40 percent of respondents who identified as black sheep in my survey.
If you’re feeling down-and-outcast by your family’s judgment, I have good news: There’s no need to dye your metaphorical wool to fit in with the flock, or even to butt horns about it.*
Instead, I recommend just… agreeing with them.
Counterintuitive, I know, but hear me out. (Remember: Mental redecorating doesn’t change who you are, only how you cope.)
Technically, what they’re saying is true, right? Your mental wall of framed progressive protest posters wouldn’t belong in the staunchly conservative mental house you grew up in. Your mental foyer, empty of belief in a higher power, doesn’t mimic your aunt Kathy’s mental shrine to her Lord and Savior. And your mental duvet cover sees quite a bit more action than your sister Lucy’s ever has.
So what. It’s your house.
The sooner you accept that, stop feeling bad about it, and start feeling confident in your own little branch of the family tree—the sooner you will truly be singular among your relatives.
You’ll be the unique, atypical, exceptional “black sheep” of the damn family precisely BECAUSE you’re the only one well adjusted enough to know that there is nothing wrong with you.
See what I did there?
And if you’re looking to spruce up the foyer, did you know that dart boards can be custom-made using family photos? Such as, I don’t know, one of Aunt Kathy’s smug face? Just an idea.
Reclaiming your time
In my survey, I asked “How much time do you spend with your family that you wish you didn’t?” Only a third of responders said “None, I always love being with them.” The other 66 percent confessed to feeling in some way overburdened by togetherness, and nearly 10 percent clicked “A LOT.”
Well, far be it from me to deprive you and your families of the joy of or barely disguised tolerance for your presence, but I think I can be of assistance in bringing these numbers to a slightly more equitable level.
As I said, in You Do You we’re not talking total elimination. (I have a different book for that.) Here, we’re going to assume that 66 percent of you are more than happy to spend some fuck bucks on your family—just not quite so many, or quite so often.
You genuinely want to make lunch plans and go to their parties and visit them in prison, but you don’t enjoy feeling obligated to kick them to the top of a crowded list of want-to-do stuff just because society (or Grandma) tells you that family should always come first.
Well, in my opinion, sharing a last name or a gene pool is right up there with “I saw it on Tosh.0” as a good reason to do something. But I get it: Letting arbitrary factors decide for you is easier than making tough choices on your own. (And I don’t mean “Your mother and your friend Mandy are drowning and you can only save one of them. Who do you choose?” Sadistic hypotheticals are the purview of psychopaths and philosophy majors, neither of whom has anything to brag about in the way of good decision-making.)
I’m talking about choices like going to a nonfamily event over a family one—I just don’t think they actually need to be so tough. For the sake of argument, and to make sure everyone’s blood is set to boil, let’s call them both weddings.
There can be only one. (It doesn’t have to be your cousin Jennifer.)
Let’s say that hypothetically, your cousin Jen’s ceremony in Boston is being held opposite your friend Tito’s blowout in Austin.
You love them both, you’d love to attend both, and both are theoretically once-in-a-lifetime events (although, knowing Tito…). But you can’t be in two places at once, even just once in your lifetime.
And I know you. Not all shindigs are created equal, and no matter how much you love your family and friends, you do have a front-runner. Just like your mom has a favorite kid.
So if you’re really close to Cousin Jen and psyched about the all-you-can-eat raw bar Uncle Joe is shelling out for at Legal Sea Foods, AND that’s the party you’d truly rather attend, the decision is easy. You can let Tito down gently with a “Hey, man, I really wish I could be there but, you know—family.” He’ll never know the difference.
But what if you’d rather spend your weekend guzzling IPAs and BBQ on Tito’s behalf in Austin? In that case, my guess is you’re going to feel much more conflicted about choosing Tito’s party over Jen’s because, you know—family. And, just another wild guess here: You’re likely to go with your second choice and forever hold your peace.
Poor Tito.
And poor you.
(More brisket for everyone else, though.)
Well, I say SPEAK NOW, COWBOY. Deliver a perfectly reasonable no to Jenny, yes to Tito, and shine up your spurs, because you’re going to Texas!
If I may beat this lesson into the ground like a rusty croquet wicket: It’s okay to prioritize choice over a sense of obligation. Probably more than a few people (<waves to Amelia from Amazon>) will read that last sentence and either sympathize with my parents or wonder what’s wrong with them that they produced such a selfish, heartless bitch of a daughter.
Perhaps she was raised among feral cats? They’re pretty standoffish. It’s plausible.
As it happens, my mother and father are both quite family-oriented (and neither is a feral cat). They’re close to their parents and siblings; they’ve willingly submitted to a fair amount of drama and trauma on behalf of both; and they clearly love having their own kids around even if their eldest is a potty-mouthed harpy. But the thing is—AND TO THEIR CREDIT—my parents have never made me feel obligated to do anything in the name of family. They know who I am: someone who does what she wants, when and why she wants, while being totally upfront about it.
They accept me. Or maybe they’re afraid of me. All I know is, we get along a lot better than other families I know who are up each other’s butts about putting each other first—and therefore our quality time together is actual quality, not a hostage situation.
Again, I count myself lucky on this score. But if you have family members who feel entitled to your time and who can’t understand why you would ever put anyone else first, I think I can help. As I’ve said, “No” is an acceptable answer (and a complete sentence), but if that doesn’t work, there are other ways to get your point across.
You love these people. You respect them. But you also have a life outside the family unit and that’s okay—your parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins can stand to come in second sometimes.
Except if you need an organ replacement, in which case they should always be your first call.
I choo-choo-choose you
But hey, I’m not just here to gripe and grumble and dash off uncomfortably accurate hypotheticals about your relationship with your cousin Jennifer! I’m also into rewarding people who appreciate you for you—so let’s end this chapter on a high note and give friends like Tito their time in the sun.
Tito is someone you met once and chose to keep hanging out with of your own volition, under zero obligation. Maybe he was your next-door neighbor growing up and you bonded early. Maybe you met him at summer camp, or in college. Maybe he answered your Craigslist ad for a roommate and he didn’t drug and assault you, so you were like Awesome, I could totally be friends with this guy!
In any case, Tito really gets you.
He knows you become inordinately excited about new Sharknado movies and you don’t give a fuck about craft beer. He shares your sense of humor, which is a rare quality in people who are not long-haul truckers. He doesn’t always text back right away, but you know he’s there for you. Lately he may be a little hurt that you’re not coming to his wedding, given that you’re best friends and he’s never even heard you mention your cousin Jennifer, but he’ll come around, because friends don’t guilt friends into doing shit they can’t or don’t want to do.
And you really get Tito.
You know that once he starts talking about sabermetrics, there’s no stopping him. You put up with it because you like geeking out about stuff too, and that’s part of what makes you compatible. (You might be a little more devoted to your collection of vintage belt buckles than is strictly healthy.) It’s easy to be around Tito. You don’t have to pretend you’re interested in the minutiae of his life, because you genuinely are.
The fact is, you chose Tito and Tito chose you. It’s a privilege to have friends like these—they don’t get automatically handed out at birth. Appreciate them. Support them. Go ahead and put them first.
The friends who don’t judge you for choosing what’s best for you are the ones you’ll want to keep closer than anyone. And honestly? Tito’s idea of what’s best for you is probably more in line with your own than, say, that of someone you would never befriend in a million years but will wind up sharing space in a mausoleum with someday because, you know—family.