When Your Family Puts the Funk in Dysfunctional

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If there is one thing I can certainly understand it's when people post discussions where they talk about how someone in their family doesn't "understand" them. The posts about the death of Muhammad Ali brought to mind what I frequently say about my family putting the funk in dysfunctional. One of my uncles, who was in the Army, slammed the Louisville mayor for lowering the flag to half staff. My brother agrees, saying that the laws governing American flag etiquette forbade it. Off went the war. (The Facebook post that prompted all this eventually came down by the family member who posted it.) There were gripes that Ali shouldn't be honored because he was a draft dodger. (I pointed out that, unlike other "draft dodgers" of the 60s, he at least stayed in America and took his punishment: a federal conviction [that was later overturned], banned from his profession for three years, and stripped of his title.) Never mind that one of the very first things Jimmy Carter did upon becoming president was to issue a complete pardon to all "draft dodgers" of the Vietnam War (that happened January 21, 1977, the day after Carter was sworn in). And, of course, "President" Carter was once "Lieutenant" James Earl Carter, United States Navy. There's a line in a Gerry Rafferty song ("Whatever's Written in Your Heart") that says, "We love and hate the ones we need the most." It's sadly funny that the people we are closest to -- our own relatives -- can frequently be the ones who inflict the most emotional pain on us. The reasons are endless: they don't like your music (my dad all but disowned me when I started listening to Elton John at the age of 14), the way you dress, your religion (oh, do we have some vocal opponents to other family members' religious beliefs in my family!), your political views (the old "I'm a Democrat because my daddy was a Democrat and his daddy was a Democrat and his daddy was a Democrat" thing), or anything else. Case in point: the photo I've attached to this discussion. It was taken at Mammoth Cave National Park. For the backstory, there's nothing unusual about seeing cemeteries or churches (there are lots of them in Cades Cove) in National Parks, because our National Park system is 100 years old but these cemeteries are in many cases older than that. As part of acquiring the land for the National Park these places are left untouched. I found it rather comical to see a cemetery named "Little Hope Cemetery" (and that is funny!), so I took a picture of it. I posted it on my Facebook wall with a humorous caption: "Where atheists are buried." Here came my relatives with (a) no sense of humor and (b) their "my religious beliefs are better than your religious beliefs" (and "my religious beliefs have completely annihilated my sense of humor") attitude, saying nasty things like, "atheists should be buried on April 1" and "that should be no hope cemetery." In the immortal words of Foghorn Leghorn, "That's a joke, son." But no, they couldn't let an opportunity to proselytize go to waste over a silly sign in front of a cemetery in a National Park. I took the picture down. I'm not an atheist -- quite the opposite -- but that doesn't mean I can't make a joke without having to insult someone. (That, to me, is part of the problem with the Divided States of America: it seems that every freaking person in this country has lost his/her sense of humor.) So for those who have to deal with a family with no sense of humor and/or no compassion, let them cry on your shoulder. It might be the first time in a long time they've had a sympathetic ear.