Accepting what I can't change

I like my family.
I carry on as though they are heinous and ridiculous and sometimes they are, don't get me wrong, but I do like them.
Things get awkward when they ask me about my future or my cousin treats me like I'm 15 instead of 21, but I guess if I want to be taken seriously as an adult, I need to answer their questions and lose the acne.
We are a strange bunch. Dry, almost undetectable humor is the order of the day, and most of the time it could be mistaken for outright stupidity . . . and I am considered a bit slow on the uptake because I don't understand when my uncles are trying to be amusing. Am I supposed to 'get it' when they act like they've lost their minds? . . . oh well.
My younger cousins are brats to the last child, except for one, and I find him more corrupt each time I see them. His transformation saddens me.
Aunts are more demanding than uncles. They want opportunities to brag about their own children to each other, so they grill me on my future plans, hoping to trip me up with something they can use against my mum. I hide in a corner with my phone. They can think what they like.
I like my family. We are judgmental, arrogant, selfish, and irritating. We are intelligent, amusing, sarcastic, and strong.
I think I'm okay being one of us.