A Month of Reflection: Day Two
Let's expand upon day one, shall we??
I’m laughing a little at myself reading yesterday’s piece. Like I said I am doing this a little differently, usually this is an Instagram thing, now it’s here and long form. And I want some semblance of continuity, so I reread yesterday’s post.
There was a point in my life where my views on my family kind of flipped. Perhaps a better was to say it, is my views on family in general kind of flipped. In some ways it grew and in others it felt entirely smaller. Huh, maybe duality could be the overarching theme of the month…
This revelation came when I was old enough to watch my family. Really watch and absorb not only their interactions, but also their relationships. I may sound naive when I say this, but I thought a lot of the people I called “aunt” and “uncle” were in fact not my aunts and uncles.
Thanksgivings, and most holidays, were held at my paternal grandparent’s home. I called them Nana and Papa growing up, most called them Dottie and Judge. Holidays at their home, especially Thanksgiving, were so much fun when we were kids. 25 or 30 people packed into their garage, all smushed around a table made of doors from a house Papa used to rent out. My parents have these now and the tradition continues. We used Papa’s work bench as the buffet; my favorite part was laying out the food.
The beautiful array. Nana taught me the best way to set it up: Plates (in the warmer of course), utensils, napkins at the front. Followed by salad. Then bread. Butter, softened of course, Nana would never serve frozen butter. Then the sides, mix the good with the bad so people don’t fixate on the good goods. Bonus tip: Two boats of gravy at two separate ends. Lastly, the turkey. Carved by Papa of course. It was a beautiful waltz of human and food, I loved it.
We would all gather around the table, the kids got to make their plates first, but we also had to sit and wait for everybody to sit down to get to that point. Finally, Nana would join and we would bow our heads to say Grace, which would without skipping a beat, be interrupted by fake cousin Billy shouting out “GRACE, dig in!” and a roar of chuckles. In retrospect probably all from us kids, as the adults probably were getting sick of his jokes. Then Nana would pick one of us to give the actual prayer, and the meal would begin. It may be my favorite memories from my childhood. That big table surrounded by family laughing and sharing stories. And I had no idea they weren’t really even my family.
Most of them just life long friends of my grandparents. Their children and my dad and his siblings were all very close, like cousins. The Hills, who had a standing reservation at the local watering hole “The Westwood”. A now closed, but used to live next to a, also vacant now, Blockbuster. The were such regulars that they had actually purchased the table that sat in the front window of the restaurant. They had wanted a circular, so they bought the one that could seat them and a few extra friends. Their daughter, Katie, had kids my age. The only other children besides my family. Mrs. Hill was a high school cheerleader with my Nana. Along with Aunt Mary Jane and Grandma Rosie. Also not actual family, we just called them that; I was so confused. And Peach rounded out the cheerleading squad, though she was the first to pass and so I have fewer memories with her. The ladies all just got lucky that they married men who all got along. They had gone to different schools in the area and happened to meet when they were young adults.
My grandparents met at the bakery my Nana’s family owned in downtown Syracuse. Which means that the best part of Thanksgiving was still to come, the desserts, we will get there, there’s 30 days. Papa left for the Navy for a couple years, but they were reunited and married and they started building a beautiful family. Well, first it was law school. But then! Family!
So all those couples had babies and they all became this huge extended family. And, I mentioned this in Day One of Reflection Month, my family is tiny. But my extended, extended family is huge. My Papa only had one sister, she had 9 kids though. Most of those kids went on to have very large families. A lot of them adopted too. For a variety of reasons. My father and his two siblings were all adopted.
Family has never been defined by blood to me.
I felt shocked when I found out that Grandma Rosie, Aunt Mary Jane, and Uncle Ernie were not real family because I knew no different. I remember just utter disbelief. I felt similarly when my dad shared with me that he was adopted. He had known his whole life, I am a very curious person though, so I asked a lot of questions. I hate to admit that I think I kind of offended him. Sometimes my curiosity comes off as abrasive I am learning. I think I had asked who his '“real parents” were…I can totally see how that would hurt. He made it very clear to me that my Nana and Papa are and always will be his parents. They raised him, they loved him, they are all he needs.
Family not being blood was 100% solidified for me.
Then I looked at all these “fake” family members a little differently. They couldn’t be fake because that means not real and they are very real, I love them very much. They are bonus. Bonus family.
As I have grown and created my own web of friendship/family hybrid my term for these people in my life has evolved yet again.
Now they are my: Soul Family.
As always, thank you so much for being here, reading my words, and allowing me this space. Please, if you have a moment I am attaching two links, both options to make an impact in the world and save a family. Free, free Palestine.