I love my family. I love mum. I love my dad. I love my brother. I love my husband. But this isn’t about them. This is about the other family that everyone has. This is about my second family.
I have a few families to be exact. It all started around 13 years ago when I met my best friend Nikki. I first met Nikki’s family when I started training at their dojo. (oh in case you didn’t know I’m a black belt in karate). Nikki and I went to school together but it wasn’t until I saw her at my first ever karate lesson that we became friends. It was from that moment that I knew I had found that person. That person that when you loose all your shit and no one gives a flying fuck about you, will be there to hold your hair back while you vomit, or stick their fingers down your throat to make you vomit when you have taken a bad pill. Nikki is my person.
Nikki’s family took me in with open arms. I was over their place every Friday after school for karate on Saturday morning. I would inevitably stay over again on Saturday night for video games and gossip. We spent every waking moment together, even the sleeping ones. We
were are surgically joined at our incredibly interesting, judgmental personalities.
The point I’m trying to make is that this became my second family. Im pretty sure that I saw them more than I saw my own family. And I felt apart of that family. I feel apart of that family.
Now living up north, I rarely get to see my adoptive family #1. However I have found a suitable replacement in adoptive family #2. Kyran has been a great friend to Daniel and I for a few years now. I met her at work and immediately had very strong feelings towards her. Yes, very strong feelings. I feared her. She was one scary girl. I can see why some people think she is a bitch. She plays the part very well.
I eventually grew to love her, after many a bitch session. When I met her family I was instantly in love all over again. Daniel and I were welcomed into their home. And not only did they accept us for who we are but also they accepted us as part of their family and their support network. It’s a beautiful thing.
Now this post comes about from the other night. We arrived back to work from Margaret River. Kyran and I dropped Russell off and picked up Daniel at the same time. We then drove to Kyran’s place to drop her home. When we got there her family (minus Blayne and Kirstie) were all sitting around drinking red wine. We were
asked instructed to stay, have dinner and stay the night. So we did. After dinner, the good Cabernet Sauvignon came out and then the Shiraz and then the port, some more Shiraz and more port. In the end it was 7 bottles of wine between 6 of us. Oh lord was I wasted. We sat the large wooden table out the back under the glow of 90’s style party lights, talking about politics absolutely nothing important as families do. It was amazing. A night of wine, laughter, name calling, more laughter followed by one of the worst hangovers I have ever had. I don’t normally drink red wine you see.
And I hate the name Frank.