I'm related to whom?

Something happened to me yesterday that happens to me every so often. Actually it's something that's been going on for most of my life but since I live in a small town I guess I've always taken it for granted that this type of thing occurs everywhere. As I've gotten older I've come to discover it's a thing that's strictly unique to the south.

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with a family member who is very near and dear to me. This person will go unnamed in this column so as not to embarass the guilty party should they read these musings. I suppose they will know who they are anyway but I digress. As I was saying, this person mentioned to me they had recently discovered that my family was related to someone whose namesake appears on a major building in our small town. Specifically our local concert hall which is technically known as the 'Citizens Center'. I was taken aback by this piece of information that was being passed on to me. The first thing that crossed my mind was 'Why should I care?'. Instead of saying just that, however, I feigned interest so as not to be disrespectful to the member of the family who so enthusiastically relayed this useless piece of information to me.

I love my family. Don't get me wrong about that one, but when I say I love my family I'm referring to my children, my parents, my siblings, and, perhaps, a few choice aunts, uncles, and cousins. Beyond those previously mentioned I have zero interest in who I'm related to. Frankly, I don't give a frog's fat ass if I'm related to someone who has some small town building named after him. If I didn't have a close and personal relationship with him at some point, I just don't care. That may sound selfish but that's just the way it is.

The truth is that I get this alot in my corner of the world. When you meet someone in my town they don't ask you about yourself, your accomplishments, likes or dislikes. The first thing they usually ask you about is if you're related to cousin so and so or did you know such and such person who shares the same last name as you.

For many years I assumed this was a natural thing and then a while back I was having dinner with a friend of mine who was born out in the midwest, took a job here and stayed for 27 years and has since moved on. He told me the first piece of conversation that came up with many of the people he had met in our town over the years was the inevitable mention of who was related to whom. He said that he had determined it was simply a symptom of a small mind to some degree. I'll have to second that emotion.

In the scheme of life why does is it really matter who you're related to? In my opinion, the family you're born into is nothing but a fluke anyway. I simply find it hard to believe that the family one is born into is predetermined. The place you're born in and the people who are your caretakers is based more on luck than anything else. I don't know why people have such a hard time acknowledging the role that luck plays in life. It seems some people do. As for me, I would rather have deep, intellectually stimulating conversation any day of the week. Discussing whom a given person is related to is about as far removed from thought provoking conversation as I am from playing football. I suspect it's yet another symptom of life in the south but maybe not. All I know is that I'll always have zero interest in what's ailing cousin so and so and, even though I may pretend to be interested, the truth is I could probably care less.