I love my family.
It’s not a “normal” family, though.
My family is my mom, but not my dad. He may have provided me with half of my genes, but that’s all he ever provided me with. Oh, and 50 dollars to help me get on my feet when I started college.
My family is my grandmother. My beautiful, kind, unbelievably compassionate and generous grandmother. And her husband, my “Oompa.” He may not be related by blood, but he is my grandfather.
Zach. Zach is my family. We aren’t married, and as of now have no plans on getting married. We are a family, though.
Zach’s parents are my family. Sure, they aren’t my in-laws technically, but why does it matter?
Sarah, my best friend in the world, is my family. We may have only known each other for 5 years, but she is like a sister to me. A sister that I never had, and a sister that I couldn’t live without.
When I think about my family, I couldn’t be happier. Who says I need a mother and a father? Who says I have to be married in order for Zach to be my family?
Normal is so overrated. Normal? Is outdated.
Living the American Dream is nice and all, but it is not what makes people happy. Having a big house with a nice lawn, surrounded by a white picket fence, is not what brings one to smile. Two kids, a boy and a girl, a dog, and an apple pie sitting on the windowsill? Well, sure, that would be nice. And, yes, I want that. I can’t lie: I want to own a house, paint the walls beautiful colors, bake cookies for Alex as a special snack after a long day at school. But all of that does not guarantee happiness.
What does guarantee happiness? I have no clue.
But my family? Guarantees my happiness.