Last of the line
I didn't really know Uncle Billy. I hadn't seen him in roughly 37 years (I think I surprised my mom with the amount of detail I remembered where we lived when I was 4), and had talked to him maybe a dozen times on the phone since then. So I didn't feel a great deal of when I found out that he was dying even though I did feel a little guilty for not jumping on a plane to see if I could get there before he passed (despite the fact that he wouldn't have known me).
I know I've explained this to a couple of friends... sometime I feel like it's my duty to carry on the family line. I can't explain why I feel that way, especially since I've never really been a family sort of guy and to be honest I think that I'm too selfish with my time to make a good parent. It's just something wired in my brain, so when it became official that I was the last, I felt like I had failed. The odds of me perpetuating the bloodline is increasingly unlikely.
Labels: inside Oz's skull