It hit me: living far away makes people forget you

As you know, I’m from Argentina and all of my family lives there. When I say “all” of them, I want you to imagine a huge group of people, roughly 60 relatives directly connected. I’m not talking about second cousins or distant relatives; 60 blood bounded individuals who get together every weekend for barbecues and know all the family secrets that cook below the surface.

This weekend was a long holiday in Argentina, remembering the Revolution and independence… in other words, there’s always a good excuse for some little time off.

My father has this strange ability to be like a magnet to every family member in need of a Holiday place. My stepmom always has to buy groceries for 30 people, even though at first, only 12 where going; because between the moment when the decision gets made and the get-go, the phone doesn’t stop ringing and every cousin, uncle, boyfriend, husband, wife, friend wants to join the party (they’re so predictable).

I always try to call them during these oversized family reunions because with one phone call I get to talk to everybody and hear about all the family gossip that I missed because of the distance that separates us.

They climb on top of a water mill to get some signal in their cell phones, so there’s always this creepy feeling when I call, that someone is going to fall over their asses on the ground and I’m going to be held accountable. I hear the wind and how they switch hands with the phone and all the time I’m like:

Me: Are you there? (I was talking to someone but there’s another one of them in line to talk to me)
Them: it’s my turn now… Hello?
Me: Who’s this?
Them: Hi! It’s me… (No idea who that is). You’re missing so much… wait, I’m switching hand because the other one is getting cold (its winter there)…. Much better now.

And while they talk, I cannot concentrate in another thing other than the fact that they’re hanging 90 yards above the ground, on the top of a water mill!!

My father never climbs up to use his cell phone, country house for him it’s the freedom of being disconnected from the world. However, in this particular weekend, he ascended to the top and waited in line for his turn after all my siblings and cousins bombarded me with news and greetings.

It is not unknown for fathers with a brace of daughters to reel off their names in order of ease of memory when summoning the estranged one that lives abroad. I had long ago become accustomed to being: “Sofia… Dolores…Pilar… Damn it!"

This is his usual greeting for me… I got baptized with only one first name, but circumstances greeted me with the longest first name ever… can you imagine if all my big sisters where in fact brothers?

So much for self-esteem and being unique in a family nucleus… greetings from me, or her, or her.