My sister had many sparkling qualities. She had a photographic memory, a quick mind, and an ability to know what she wanted in life. And what my sister wanted, more than anything, was to be a wife and a mother, and to someday be a
grandmother. Forty-eight years ago today, she started that journey when she
married the love of her life. Happy Anniversary, little sis. I miss you.
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Before you can celebrate Family History Month shouldn’t you at least have a working definition of the term, family? Some define family as those individuals who live or have lived together in one dwelling. Some define family by a minimum number of shared centimorgans. And some use the heart to set the parameters for who is and isn’t family.
Karen Ferry in Make Me Believe wrote, “Family
isn’t whose blood you carry … It’s who you love and who loves you back.”
Fifteen years ago, I struggled with my own definition. Below
is the post I wrote My words were
true then, and they are true now.
(FYI – I no longer am a Grey’s Anatomy aficionado, and the
number of grandchildren has mushroomed from that mere puny four.)
In honor of Family History Month:
For National Family History Month — One Definition of
Family
For someone who professes a great interest in family
history, I have dragged my heels on mentioning the fact that October has been
designated as National Family History Month. As I mentally planned this post, I
intended to link you to some terrific ideas on how to celebrate the month.
Instead, I find myself squirming about writing on the
subject. Preferring instead to put the laptop down, and go foraging for
something to eat, or something interesting to read. Or, when I finally make
myself sit with laptop in hand, I suddenly feel the need to find spoilers for
“Grey's Anatomy,” or a good recipe for crock-pot Chili or googling about any
errant thought that flitters through my brain — anything but writing this post.
The sticking point for me is I'm suddenly self-conscious
about the definition of family. If human beings conducted their lives in a nice
orderly fashion, and if we all lived to be ninety, the concept of family would
be easy. But we don't. We sometimes die in automobile accidents, or get cancer,
or we find the love of our life isn't, or we somehow derail a perfectly good
life for liquor or drugs or lust. I'm not making judgments; I'm stating that
human beings lead messy lives. And these messy lives have consequences, one of
which is that the definition of family gets bruised and muddied.
Is a favored uncle by
marriage who died more than 40 years ago, still part of my family? Is the aunt
of my youth, no longer married to my biological uncle still my aunt? The grade
school project of making a family tree seems innocent and straight forward,
unless you happen to be an adopted child, or a foster child, or child of a
blended family. What tree does that child make? What genealogical chain does he
follow? What family history should she celebrate?
Dr. Joyce Maguire Pavao, author of The Family of
Adoption, talks instead of a family tree, a family orchard that
includes as many trees as necessary for an individual's identity. The concept
allows for both biology and reality, for inclusion of nature and nurture. In my
family, it allows the man who adopted my grandfather when he was 10, and whose
last name I carried until I married, to be recognized and honored in our family
orchard. It allows my orchard to include four beautiful grandchildren for whom
I am not grandmother by blood, but rather grandmother by heart. It is a concept
I embrace.
Until Next Time — Happy Ancestral Digging!
Note: This post first published
online, October 11, 2007, at Desktop Genealogist Blog at The Fremont News-Messenger.
Take a moonlit night on the banks of the Potomac, a few
bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine, our guardian angel, Jim (also procurer
of the aforementioned wine), my alcoholic infused babbling tongue, and a very
long walk back to our Dorm, and presto change-o, you became Ruby.
In truth, the actual metamorphosis happened the next
day. We dragged ourselves to Jim’s part
time gig at the local pizza parlor, feeling a trifle worse for the wear. Jim
came to our booth and asked, “So who is this Ruby chick?” What? There was no
Ruby. “Well, she,” his fingers
pointing at me, “kept calling someone, Ruby.” The light dawned. My slurred
midwestern twang version of Roomie, sounded like Ruby to his Southern accent
accustomed ears. After that, you were
officially, Ruby.
Honestly, it seems like yesterday. You came North to be in my wedding, and a
year later, I went South to return the favor. Life was so busy, and we lost touch.
I chose a school that was six hours away from home. A school where I knew no one. I made a lot of
friends, but the four of us – you, me, J and K – were our own Fab Four.
I learned so much that year.
I learned that frozen
daiquiris are yummy.
I learned enough swear words to make a marine blush. (That was mostly, J. That girl was a swearing savant. Although, my personal favorite, and one I
would continue to use, was your “Well, F—k a red and yellow duck.”)
I learned that it takes beaucoup quarters to call a
boyfriend who was spending several months in Europe. You sold your beautiful red jacket, your
clogs, your gorgeous purple dress, and I don’t know what else to Vicky, to feed
the machine. It was a good thing that W came
home when he did, or goodness knows you would have been left with only your
undies and your slippers!
I learned that yes, Virginia, you can squeeze a mattress
through a second floor window to the ground below when Vicky and Hawaii did
just that. I don’t know how they explained the missing mattress. But… Not my
monkeys, not my zoo.
I learned that sometimes, having a messy closet, can
actually be a good thing. You brought that
little black and white TV back for the second semester. It was strictly
verboten. Our RA, who was normally a big
stickler for following the rules, agreed to overlook it when you slyly
suggested that she was welcome to come down and watch her favorite soap
opera.
The problem was, we were assigned a new house mother that
semester, and she was doing a surprise inspection. I happened to leave our room to go to our wing’s
bathroom and there was Miss W. with our R.A., Mary. Mary was standing behind our new housemother,
frantically doing a pantomime for my benefit.
When I got back to the room, I told you what was happening and we
quickly hid the TV in my closet, which was, as usual, a disaster.
We made it more of
one, throwing clothes off hangers, grabbing more clothes out of my drawers to
cover the TV, and putting some on the floor to complete, “The Look.” We had just finished when a tapping at the door
ushered in Miss W. and Mary. Oh Lord, Mary’s eyes were practically popping out
of their sockets as she looked around for that TV. Miss W. went to your closet first She did a thorough check. Then she came to
mine. She took one look at the disaster, sniffed, and then left the room. I bet we sat there hyperventilating for a
good five minutes. I don’t remember. Was that an expulsion offense?
I learned, thanks to your insistence, that I did not need
full make-up to go to the dining hall for breakfast. You would pace the room back and forth until
I was ready. Oh, the pressure!
I learned that forming a study group really made getting
decent grades a snap. The fact that the
four of us were all El Ed majors meant we had the same courses, and often the
same class.
I learned that I could easily do a 7:10 AM class if it was
history. (The professor loved my
papers.) But a 11:10 Friday class in English, just interfered too much with my
life. (That professor hated my papers.)
I learned that while the movies make it look like throwing a
burning object into a waste basket easily smothers the fire, in real life that only
works if the basket isn’t already full of paper. Duh!
I learned that a good friend will sit on the bathroom floor
outside your stall, patiently explaining – well, never mind, no one else needs
the details, but you’ll remember what I am referring to. You, dear Ruby girl, were such a good friend!
I hope your birthday is wonderful, Ruby. You are the first of our group to hit that
milestone. The rest of us will bravely follow you. I think of you and J and K often. I am sending you virtual hugs and good wishes
on the wind.
Terry
