The Rambling Man

Author: Raam Wong
Opinions Editor

I've heard it said that you can't go home again. Well, after the 504 hours and 39 minutes spent with my family over the break, I certainly wish that were the case. I've never been sure what the term "nuclear family" meant before, but if it has anything to do with the relationship between my family and I being analogous to the tension between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. during the Cold War, then I think the term is right on the money. (It also helps that my dad is a Communist.)

Much of my frustration with being home is due to my parents treating me like a child, which only leads me to behave like a little kid again. But it's not as if I'm trying on my mom's makeup or making cookies with my Easy Bake Oven, or any of the other activities we boys engage in as kids. It's just strange to me that at one moment I'll be at Midd studying neurobiology and the next moment I'll be home sleeping in a race-car bed with my feet poking out the other end. And the plastic My Little Pony sheets don't exactly make me feel like a big boy either.

The problem is only compounded at Christmas dinner when my parents make me sit at the kids' table. Apparently no one finds it odd that I'm actually the only one sitting at the so-called kids' table and that the table is located in the garage. Of course, I'd rather be hiding in the garage than sitting at the dinner table with my relatives who always insist on pummeling me with a barrage of jokes about my being the lone vegetarian in the family: "Hey Raam, you sure you don't want some turkey?" or "Raamer, can I get you a slice of this juicy roast beef?" This line of questioning always persists until every one of my witty relatives has offered me every single kind of meat, poultry or other living creature conceivable.

The same jokes every year can grate on my nerves. Would it really be that difficult for my relatives to create some new jokes, such as, "Hey Raam, could you look at my dog? He has a bad cough. Wait, sorry, you're a vegetarian. Not a veterinarian!" Then we would all have a good laugh as the rest of my relatives copied this joke format with other words that sound similar to "vegetarian," like valedictorian, ventriloquist and vas deferens. Hopefully this joke will last us another twenty years of Christmas dinners or until my carnivorous relatives finally have heart attacks from all the animal flesh they've been eating and I can eat my tofu burger in peace. (At least a man can dream.)

Usually I try to avoid such interactions with those people referred to as my "loved ones" (a misnomer in it of itself). Instead, I enjoy sitting in front of the television and allowing junk TV like Fox reality specials such as "When Toll Booth Operators Throw Change" to push an entire semester's worth of college out of my brain. It's interesting that it takes a tuition of $34,000 to place knowledge into my head, and only a "Facts of Life" marathon to remove it. I do enjoy more serious entertainment, however. For instance, I love to break out my video collection and watch films depicting alcoholism, drug abuse and white-collar crime. Then again, there are only so many hours of the Wong family movies a man can watch before he has to return to therapy.

My marathon TV watching is occasionally interrupted by one of my parent's enthusiastic announcements that I have a phone call. It's as if my parents are celebrating the fact that I have friends or something. My parents were equally as proud when I had other social breakthroughs such as learning to chew with my mouth closed or not flying home to California every time I have to use the bathroom. They were so happy about the former accomplishment that they flew me home from school and threw me a neighborhood party to celebrate my achievement. Unfortunately I had to leave early to catch a flight back to Vermont so I could use the facilities.

Being home also means that I instantly become the computer expert for the family. My parents are only now getting on the computing bandwagon, and they depend on my broad knowledge of computers to explain to them the intricacies of personal computing. Without me, my parents would have to hire an expensive consultant to do such things as instruct my mom that the CD-ROM drive is not intended to be a "handy cup holder." And it took me quite a bit of time to help my dad get online when the extent of his Internet experience had only been trying to locate a Web browser on the kitchen toaster.

But my parent's computer knowledge has been improving. For instance, I can tell them about all the "burning" I do at college without having them send me away to drug rehab again. The problem, however, is that now my parents want me to burn all of my CDs for them. Just between you and me, I think it's sad when older people listen to a younger generation's music. Occasionally I just want to stand up to my parents and say, "No, I will not burn my Patsy Kline CD for you!"

But with all its drawbacks, I do enjoy being home. And occasionally, I'll have one of those rare moments in which I look at one of my family members, my heart swells, and I think, "Wow, I can endure this person." But for the other 364 days and 23 hours of the year, I guess I'll have to settle for episodes of "The Facts of Life" and the continual denial that I have a family.