So this Saturday my mother’s side of the family is having a family reunion. Thinking back, I don’t know that I’ve ever been to one. And isn’t it odd that’s it’s called a “reunion” when you’re more than likely going to spend much of the time being introduced to a throng of kinfolk you’ve never actually met before?
I received an email from a distant cousin I’ve never met (see what I mean?) inviting me. Since I had no clue who she was, I forwarded the email to my mom to see if she did. “I have no idea who this is,” my mom said before urging me to call the number listed at the bottom of the email to inquire. I called, left a message, and waited. My long-lost cousin wrote me back stating that she’d be hosting the reunion, and that she really hoped I’d be attending. She confirmed that in fact I have never met her (what did I tell ya…), but that if I’m anything like my mother and father, she knows I’m good people. Ole shucks…
I’ll be honest, even after her delightful email, I really had no desire to go. I’m sort of a loner (or socially inept, you be the judge), and sadly, I don’t really have binding ties with many of my immediate family (aunts, uncles, cousins) so going to be introduced to distant relatives I don’t know, and may never see again, wasn’t that appealing. Not to mention my Aunt Karen’s funeral felt sort of like what I imagine a family reunion does: unrecognizable relatives coming up kissing and hugging, sharing regretful sentiments like, “it’s been much too long, we shouldn’t let so much time pass without seeing each other,” and, “the family should really get together more, why does it take a funeral to bring us all together?” Frankly, all of that, “we, family, we” stuff makes me a tad uncomfortable.
Anyway, my cousin Ulinda (my Aunt Karen’s daughter) who I am close with, even though we live far apart, called last week to see if I’d be going to the reunion. Being that I love her dearly and that I want to be supportive of her now more than ever, I told her that if she was going, I’d go. She said she was, so it was settled—much to my chagrin—that I’d be going too.
I called my mom to see if she’d be attending and she said my dad wanted to (which was a little bizarre to me since my father doesn’t like crowds of people, much like I don’t ), so if I went she was sure they would go. I told her I was going, she yelled and told my dad, and he confirmed that they’d be going too.
In the days that followed, my niece called, a cousin called, another cousin called, and even my sister called, all to see if I’d be making an appearance at the infamous family reunion, and I quickly realized that something I wasn’t thrilled about was the hot topic that everyone else was thrilled about. But why?
Monday night my sister called me up and started asking me a bunch of questions about me and Mike. Questions like, what city were you born in, what year did you get graduate from high school, what year did you get married, what’s your address, and when did you lose your virginity (just kidding)? She said she was doing the family tree for the reunion and that she planned to hand it out to everyone there. She told me that she had called a lot of our cousins, aunts, and great-aunts, and had found out things about our family that she didn’t know.
She asked me if I knew what the “T” in Booker T. Washington stood for and I said no, feeling like a dud. She excitedly went on to tell me it stands for Tolifero, which is my mother’s maiden name. I was intrigued, and my sister was genuinely pleased with her quest to piece my family’s history together. But would everyone be?
I’m just going to cut completely to the chase. Hellz to the NO!!!!! Why would putting the pieces of a family tree cause friction, trepidation, and worriment to some of my family members?
I’m going to tell you why, it’s because putting the pieces of a family tree together is much like inviting some people’s (and you know who you are) closeted skeletons to Sunday family dinner at grandma’s. While juicy, fascinating, and blog-worthy to me, to those who prefer hiding their past indiscretions, um, it’s not so exciting.
My sister called me this morning disappointed, after my mom advised it wasn’t a good idea. She said that she’s not doing the family tree to pass out to everyone but for her own interest. Quite frankly it’s probably best. But when I hung up with her it really made me think. And even though what I’m about to say may sound completely bonkers, it’s my opinion and I’m entitled to it, so there!
I remember being a kid and my mom’s parents being alive. At the end of every summer they’d throw a “Back to School” cookout, buying each of us grandkids an outfit for the first day of school. Now my mother is one of seven kids, all whom had kids, so this was no cheap venture. But boy was it fun. My Aunt Karen and Uncle Alton would usually bring a bushel or two of crabs, there’d be hot dogs, hamburgers, all kind of salads, fruit punch, chips, cookies, cakes, everything. My cousins and I would play on the swing-set for hours, getting sweaty, and dirty, and sometimes scraped up, but we didn’t care. We were kids, with not many worries at all. Kids who just wanted to play, eat junk food, and get our outfit for the first day of school. Those were the things that were important to us. Those were also the things that connected us at the time.
But years flew by, my grandparents passed away, and the cookouts, and the laughs, and the closeness disappeared. I’ve heard many a cousin, and even my sister, say, “If Grandmom and Pop-pop were still living things wouldn’t be like this. We’d all still be close.” But how do they figure?
Time changes all of us. Through our highs, our lows, our experiences, for some political views, for others religious views, we morph into different people. We think differently, live differently, and hope and dream of different things. Those connections we had as children, running around, climbing the monkey bars, and playing school bus on our bicycles are gone. And I’m not foolish enough to believe that just because we share some of the same blood, we must share in each other’s lives. Sadly, it just doesn’t work that way.
If my grandparents were still alive, maybe we would still get together every summer and have a cookout, but would any of us really, really be close? Would they know that I want to be an author? That I love the absurdity of The Jersey Shore? That I’m particularly sentimental? T hat I want to have a baby with Mike but I’m scared I won’t know how to be a mother? Will I know about their hopes and fears? Would we have each other’s numbers programmed in our cell phones? Would we text often? Call each other up for a laugh or a cry? I don’t know, but I’m thinking not, and that’s just real talk. Because I find I do talk, laugh, and cry with the ones I kept that connection with. Don’t get me wrong, if a member of my family needed me and called, I’d be there. I would. But I don’t think we have to invite each other over for tea because of any familial obligation. We don’t have to uncomfortably smile at each other, making small talk that doesn’t matter, and promises of keeping in touch that will never be upheld. What good does that do anybody?
There are members of my family that I truly love, because we share something other than just our blood. My Aunt Sissy is one of them. We don’t talk often but I genuinely love her. And when we talk, we share real life things. She asks me about my life, and I ask her about hers. She knows how much Hershe and Heidi and my kitties mean to me. We both love Ellen. We laugh heartily about past episodes of her sitcom. She shares my fascination with Good Times, and The Jeffersons. Then there’s my Aunt Doll and my Uncle Georgie. I don’t see them often, but when I do, it feels like old times. We laugh, and I mean belly laugh, about everything. I think there are always those people you stay connected to, no matter the time, or the distance.
But sadly there are just others you don’t, and I’m really okay with that. I don’t feel the need to extend myself, and develop new relationships with people under the umbrella of “family”; I just don’t. And that’s not me being a snob, too good, or anything of the sort. It’s me being a realist. I’m always open to meet new people, but there’s something about the mentality that you must be close with people who are your family, who are really strangers, simply because you’re family, that doesn’t quite jive with me.
My heart goes out to my sister. It really does, because unlike me, she loves the thought of that big, happy, close family and I know she’s disappointed to see that nowadays that picture is not reality, at least not with our clan.
I’m not going to the family reunion. My cousin Ulinda called me Tuesday to say she’s unable to go, and Mike wants to celebrate our anniversary (August 31st) on Saturday, and that’s what I’m choosing to do.
Family to me isn’t about the blood that runs through us, but the REAL ties that bind. Mike is my family. My mother and father, my nieces, my sister, my nephew, and my adorable great-nephew are my family. My cousins I stay in contact with (you know who you are) are my family. My Uncle Georgie, Aunt Sissy, and Aunt Doll are my family. Mike’s mom and dad are my family. Aunt Deb is my family. My Grandma Robinson and Mommom Turner are my family. Mike’s grandma and pop-pop are my family. My animals are truly my family. Chris will always be my family. Renee’s my family, Bobbi’s my family, and even though I haven’t seen her in a while, my friend Karen is my family, just to name a few.
And if there’s going to be a family reunion that I’m going to, it’s going to be one I throw inviting all of these people. Because we wouldn’t have to walk around offering up polite apologies for not staying in touch, because we’ve been in touch and in each other’s lives all along.
Perhaps we should all spend less time forcing those connections and work to build and strengthen the ones we currently have.
I’m closing this as I look down at the text message I just got from Ulinda, sending me a picture of her daughter Tamara on her first day of middle school.
See what I mean….that’s family!
No comments:
Post a Comment