Family is everything...
Yeah yeah, and all that jazzy jazz that every other red blooded American Dreamer wants to believe, including myself. I still want to believe it. But my time on this earth, and with those whom I was destined to share it, has been tainted.
The living branches of my family tree are plagued by those with various forms of mental illness, by addiction, by domestic violence, and by the mere acts of disinterest and neglect.
Hey, no family is perfect. Sometimes I think that we're born into our dysfunctions to learn how to overcome them, and work to strengthen the family bond. And sometimes I think the purpose is to learn how to overcome them, and work to build our own strength so we can get the hell out.
But somehow, I still cling to the notion of what a real family should be, and how they should behave, and how we should all be loving and compassionate towards those carry our very own DNA. So I try to instill it in my children, but I have no way of knowing what the future holds for them.
I do, however, know what our past has been holding. Family... hundreds and hundreds of members of our family!
- good and upstanding members of the community,
- men of the church, and women of character,
- heroes of wars both foreign and domestic,
- entrepreneurs and proprietors of business,
- catalysts of political and social change,
- brave souls who emigrated, immigrated, pioneered, and founded...
- kings and queens, and members of the royal court,
- history books and Hollywood epics are littered with tales of my ancestors.
I know their names, I have their documents, and even some of their photographs and/or artist's depictions. What I don't know are their dysfunctions. I have no way of knowing whether or not Great Great Great Uncle Samuel was a raging alcoholic who beat his wife and belittled his children. I don't know if Great Great Great Grandpa John, although not a slave owner, may have still been a raging racist. And because I don't know their ins and outs and dirty little secrets, it makes it that much easier to just love them, unconditionally, and to feel that they love me too.
Once they've been removed from the living branches of the tree and have taken their places in the next world, they can be just what I need them to be; loving relatives who pass no judgement, make no demands, never criticize, and always have my best interest at heart. I can call out to them whenever I need them, and I can speak openly and honestly, and they always listen. They're always in a position to lend a helping hand, even if that help is nothing more than the feeling of comfort that I get when I gaze at their photographs, or re-read old records, or hold the family heirlooms that I am so blessed to have in my possession.
I guess it just kind of goes to prove that the old adage is true. Family is not always what you're born into, it's what you make for yourself. In my case, it's the best of both worlds. My own blood, and still my own choice.
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