Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.
—Exodus 20:8
My gym philosopher buddy and I were half-jokingly pondering over whether “normal,” family-game-night-type families actually exist.
“I don’t know any of those people,” he said. “None of my friends had that.”
“Yeah,” I said, “that’s because you spend all your time here, surrounded by others working on insecurities instilled by their dysfunctional families. You know where all the ‘normal’ people are?”
“Where?”
“At family game night! With a self-confidence that doesn’t require the pursuit of an improving physique because Mommy and Daddy instilled the belief that they’re good enough the way they are! And so they’re out in the world, attracting lovers and money while operating under the belief system that they’re lovable and deserve the world, repelling losers like you, while you’re attracting your own dysfunctional kind!”
Hardy har har, but I do wonder if there’s any degree of truth to that, as opposed to “normal” families remaining a myth. I suppose it’s more likely they just exist on one end of the bell curve while the rest of families fall somewhere in between. It seems like most people you encounter are driven by lingering insecurities instilled by imperfect upbringings, and the more I examine my own subconscious stories, the more I wonder who could have escaped their past without any ghosts hovering over their shoulder. This, too, I imagine, has a haunted house-like bell curve associated with it.
I will say one likable thing I’ve discovered in studying religions is the tradition in Judaism to have a Friday night family dinner, followed by a Sabbath with no internet, no phones, no cars, and just some good old rest and relaxation with the fam. What else is there to do in the absence of technology and transportation but to sit down around a Scrabble board and converse with members of your household?
If you’re one of these perfectly functional beings who exist at that fringe of the function bell curve, please drop me a line at SeekingFamilyGameNightFamilies@gmail.com. I’d love to sit in on a rousing game of Parcheesi and observe what it’s like.