I Have No Connection With Family

Some connections you can’t will into existence. It’s either there or it’s not.

Photo by Fotos on Unsplash

You don’t choose your family.

They don’t choose you either.

There’s this idea that you form strong bonds with the children of your siblings. That you, as an aunt or uncle, forge a strong connection with those family members. You become the cool aunt. The uncle that’s always there for heart-to-heart discussions or to let them sip your beer when their parents aren’t looking. I know so many who love their nieces and nephews like their own rental kids.

But for me? I feel more like Uncle Eddie. I show up, blurry-eyed, not really knowing anyone. After a year away and visiting for my annual return to the U.S., there’s an almost foreign look in their eyes. The kids have all grown older. Taller. I tell myself I look the same. But there’s a disconnection. As if we passed each other on the street, there’d be the awkward look away, the kind you give someone you recognize from high school but never cared for, and continue on, without saying a word.

Uncle Eddie slept by the curb in his prehistoric camper. If it wasn’t for my mom letting me stay in her one-bedroom apartment, I have the odd feeling my two sisters would prefer me outside as well.

Not that we don’t have solid relationships. I’d wager I have better connections with each of my sisters than they have with each other, and they live five miles apart. I’m five thousand miles away. But one sister has no room with her two kids, and the other, well, I think I used up all my stayover days during COVID as I prepared to move overseas.

But for whatever reason, even when I lived close to them, bonding with their children never took place.

I can’t explain it really. I was around for the birth of each child. I attended birthday parties they’ll never remember. They said goodbye to my dog the day I had to forever say goodbye to him as well.

And yet, when I return, there’s nothing. If they want to see me, I tell my sisters, they can, but if not, that’s alright. Sometimes I think the myth of Uncle Greyson is better than factual Uncle Greyson. Unfortunately, I don’t feel the bond I’m supposed to have as family.

I am supposed to have that, right?

I don’t blame anyone as I’m not sure if there is anyone to blame. Other than myself, of course, but when I do attempt to talk, they mostly return their gaze to screens or deadpan stare into the distance, as if my words are those of a neighbor’s off-tune windchime. At their age, I didn’t have screens, but there were always multiple aunts and uncles around, so they only needed a few moments at a time to entertain my sisters and I. I’m the only uncle, so the responsibility is mine alone, and I’m no match for a screen.

I marvel at those who are able to get right in there and are instantly accepted and loved by their sibling’s children. I wish I could do that. But that’s not me. Maybe that’s not my sibling’s children either.

I’m also not around much. I see them, at most, a few times a year, and those few times are bundled together within a week’s time. They don’t know me. I’m a stranger with a familiar name whom their mom says to hug when departing. Well, not all of them. My older sister instructs her kids to hug me. My younger sister does not. She and her husband don’t tell their daughter to hug anyone goodbye. I can respect that. Kids of my generation were probably told to hug way too many strangers.

And, to those kids, I’m a stranger.

Honestly, I don’t know what to say to kids. I’ve never had any of my own, and my sisters were having them not long after I went through a divorce, so perhaps that played a small factor, though I doubt it. It seems like one of those skills you either have or you don’t.

I’ve always been the dog guy, not the kid guy. Dogs track me down and find me wherever I am. If I’m at a party, the household dog will sniff me out. On two separate occasions while living in Albania, a random dog nudged me from behind as I waited at a streetlight, then followed me back to my apartment. I hated sending them away and would have taken them in if I could, but with dog-poisoning neighbors, it was safer for them to avoid my building.

Dogs can sense that I like them. Maybe kids have the same sense, too.

A year back, I took a side detour to visit a friend while back in the States. I’ve known her since middle school and, for whatever reason, we routinely found ourselves meeting once every five to ten years. Maybe it has something to do with planetary alignments or crystals or something. Maybe it’s just bad timing. In a different life, we could have ended up together. There’s still time in this one.

She had a kid on her own, a daughter, whom I’d never met (not mine, in case that idea just popped into your head). I was excited to see my friend, but a little worried about meeting her daughter. Kids have a way of spotting the flaws you hide from yourself.

Walking into her home, hugging her, and bending down to introduce myself to her three-year-old daughter sucked the wind from my lungs. I was terrified of this little girl. Because kids didn’t like me. Or, at least, my nieces and nephew didn’t connect with me.

And yet, I can’t explain it, but the two of us instantly bonded. Perhaps that three-year-old girl saw me and took pity. She could tell something inside was broken. Or she simply saw a new person to show off her mangled Barbie collection to. Either way, she never left my side the entire time of my visit. Insisting on me throwing her into the air as we watched her favorite TV show, crafting beaded bracelets together, or having me instead of her mom carry her while at a farmer’s market. She told me all of her secrets, and I let her in on a few about her mom.

After leaving, she asked about me. My sister’s kids ask about my dogs. Now they have their own dog, so there’s no more reason to enquire about their distant uncle.

I don’t fully understand it. I didn’t try anything different. If anything, I put more pressure on myself when meeting my friend’s daughter than when meeting my sister’s kids. Had there been no connection, had my friend’s daughter returned to her toys and let the grownups in the room talk, it would have made sense. Just tally it up to kids not liking me and me not knowing how to interact with kids. But I can no longer say that. It completely destroyed my hypothesis. Not sure if that’s a good thing, because at least then my lack of connection with relatives would have made sense. It no longer does. I guess, much like your siblings, you don’t choose who you’re related to, but you do pick your friends.

There’s likely not all that much I can do to change things. I mean, other than moving back to the States to live next door, though even then, I wouldn’t know what to say. I could bribe them with amazing gifts, but while offering amazing things might lay a foundation, it doesn’t bridge the chasm. Without a connection, it’s just a dead-end track requiring an impossible leap of faith to reach the other side.

Maybe you have a similar situation with family members or siblings’ children, although most of the time it feels like I’m alone with all the aunt or uncle posts on social media. Though I guess most people don’t highlight their lack of a family connection on Instagram. I just happen to write about it.

So, I don’t know; maybe in a different life we could have forged stronger connections. Thankfully, there’s still time in this one.