Paul Sweeney - 212: It's a Family Affair

Published: 28 May, 2012 - Featured in Skin Deep 212, May, 2012

Wait! Before allowing your ailing minds to jump to a multitude of addled conclusions and thus avoiding my column altogether, allow me to put you at ease.

I’m not about to turn this month’s column into a confessional whereby I reveal a plethora of dark family secrets, the kind of incestuous tales delivered with relentless detail, the likes of which are more commonly reserved for daytime television. For starters I don’t have any. Incestuous tales that is, not family. I do have family; they’ve not completely abandoned me… unless of course they managed to fund the development and completion of cyborg replicas without me knowing… or (more feasibly) had clones made, allowing them to exist in a secret location, or an alternate reality where my existence would be of a far more tolerable nature.

I’m sure even if any of these bizarre scenarios were indeed at all possible, my family would never dream of abandoning me. OK, maybe they’ve dreamt of abandoning me, everyone dreams, right? That doesn’t necessarily mean we want them all to come true… anyway I’m sure it was along time ago, before I moved out. The beautiful thing about family, through thick and thin (let’s face it I’m about as stupid and skinny as they come), in hell or high water, a good family always supports one another.

Every family has its history, whether you’re a descendant of Irish prostitutes or Egyptian royalty from outer space, be proud of your routes, no matter how tutti-frutti they might be. My Granddad had my Dad when he was in his 30th year of existence, and my Dad had me when he was in his 30th year of existence; I turned 30 on the May 6 this year, and in true rebellious fashion, I’ve not impregnated anyone. Instead I got a tattoo! Not of a baby, mind you the more I think about it, it would’ve been hilarious if I had!

The generation jig isn’t quite up though, I’ve done the maths and taking into account, on average, human incubation takes around nine months between conception and birth, that means I’ve still got about three months to find someone and convince them I would make a suitable contributor to growth of a new life within their very own ‘Garden of Eden’, so I’ve not quite broken the 30-year Sweeney generation chain yet… that’ll be totally doable and not at all a creepy reason to start a relationship with someone!  

Alternatively, I could just donate sperm? Undoubtedly if I were to discuss either of these ideas with my mum, it’d be the only time I hear her say; “I think the tattoo was probably best!”