Just for the record, we are American. For the last several generations anyway.
Hi, my name is Jonas Francois. Thats pronounced Joe-nuh Fran-swah.
I'm dead. Well, by now I am. I was alive when I wrote this obviously. No supernatural shit going on here.
This, what I'm writing here, will not be the goings-on, because for me they have stopped.
I give you this, a warning, my dear readers, when my curtain closes, so does the story. Fin. Non more... or something like that. Basically when I end, so do my memoirs.
This story is of my family and my life, some of it takes place before my beginning, but I hope you'll catch onto that idea quickly.

My great grandfather, Kevin Francois, was a great towering man. I only knew him the one day, but I'll get to that later on. Kevin did many things, a great number of those things were women.
The adulterer, every family has one. Mine had two. My great grandmother had three children. Only one could have been Francois, he was the only white one.
My grandfather.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to my great grandfather.
Kevin was a writer. He was a comedian around the turn of the century. The 20th century, but I hope you grasped that. Kevin wrote funny stories and the like. A few of the jokes you tell your friends, my great grandfather wrote the original that your parent's parents bastardized and retold. Kevin told me this.
He was always funny, at least that is what I was told, I never really believed it.
They called him a great man, everyone did.
"Goddamn ------- won't get off my damn lawn!" Kevin always said, it was his quote. I removed the word, which was a bad word of black people.

You know what? For now I'll fast forward through this bit. Right now I can't think of anything interesting to say about him. I might return if I remember anything.
I'll jump to my granfather, John's funeral. This part I remember clearly because I was there, even though I was only about 2 years old. I remember quite clearly, because it was the first day I realized how nuts my family was.

John wasn't all that old when he died, maybe about 67 or so.
My mother had been knocking back drinks like their were candy. I was chewing on some gum I found on the floor, I was 2, give me a break. I didn't notice this until I was much older but all of my family, at the exact same time, took a pill bottle for each of their pockets and took a few of the pills.
This happened at everyone of my family's funerals.
My grandmother, Laurice, was the only one who didn't fit this portrait. She was a slim brunette who looked thirty even though she was pushing seventy. She was a kind woman.
"Shut up Jonas!" My mom said hitting me when I whined when she stepped on my hand.
See? My grandmother didn't fit in this family.
To this day, no one actually knows how my grandfather died, either that or they just don't want to tell me.
I don't care anymore.
In this family, apathy will get you everywhere.
I was 2 years old. I crawled my way outside of the funeral parlor. I cried and shit my pants. I shit myself because of what I thought I saw. I thought I saw my grandfather walk away and wave at me. Give me a break, I was 2.

Most of that, however, was explained when I was diagnosed with "Paranoid Schizophrenia" at the psychologically ripe age of ten. They also said I had ADHD. You ever seen that film "Prozac Nation"? Me neither. But the title fits.
At the beginning of 5th grade I was the only kid on medication, but by the end most of the class spent "nap-time" staring at the clock drooling. It just struck me, what kind of fifth grade class has a goddamned nap-time?
Chalk another childhood mishap onto the list.
You know, its wrong, at the age of eleven, to be on a first name, and bi-weekly, basis with your pharmacist unless you live in a really small town.
I knew when mine's wife had her period.
After getting my perscription, I wandered home, the entire time imagining I was a robot sent to destroy my neighbors. Then I'd take my pills, and imagine I was sitting on a chair doing my homework, then going to sleep, then going to school. Repeat. And I'd imagine this until it came time for me to go get my medicine again.

My grandmother, when I would go over to her house, she'd take my medication away and tell me that it was just a crutch, and that I didn't really need it.
After I saw my dead grandfather walk out of the bathroom and wave at me, I took the pills from her, and took them anyway.
Then I would imagine I was listening to her stories and old records, and enjoying them.