Can we tawk?
No seriously, something’s hitting me right now and I must share.
Family.
What’s up with it, I ask you?
We’re all different when it comes to family. Some of us are close knit, traditional, totally conformed to the expectations of the group. Proud to be a….what? A Smith, a Wilson, a Rodriguez a Salerno. Whatever, you got my meaning.
We call, we show up for holidays, christenings, bar mitzvahs, birthdays, all of it. Some of us never leave the nest, we remember to visit Grandma, call our Mother’s, our brother’s, sisters, we stand up in the wedding, carry the casket, the whole deal. We are family MEMBERS. And we’re good with it. That’s how we were raised. That’s what you DO.
But some of us were black sheep. Right? Misunderstood, outcasted, railing against the tribal imperatives. Some of us can’t communicate with our families, they don’t get us, they don’t get…..anything.
No formal holiday’s, no hugs, no “I love you’s” or “Atta boys”. When was the last time you were all in room together? Too much drama. Right?
Yeah, I can dig it.
Some of us have no family at all. Is that better or worse? Is it safer to have a blueprint to follow? Examples to base your moves off of, to shape you? Or is it better to not know where you come from, to be without limits…without parameters…to be able to shape your own identity without any frame of reference? A clean slate to write the story of your life on.
I was raised Italian American. Old school, Catholic school. Don’t talk back, respect your elders, family comes first, work hard, expect nothing. DON’T TALK BACK. New Jersey. Italian.
And I was adopted.
Yes I’m serious.
So, I go back and forth between wanting to make meatballs and babies, or music and history, pretty much daily.
I went to Catholic School. I loved the bible stories and gospel songs yet defied every Nun I came in contact with. I love my family, I’m up on all the current events and happenings in the inner sanctum but there’s a reunion going on as I write this and I’m home….writing this blog.
Not sure why. I’m conflicted, always have been.
When I was growing up no one looked like me. Being adopted I saw myself as this unique creature incomparable to anyone else’s beauty or lack there of. I had nothing to compare myself to so therefore I had no limits. It wasn’t until I met my birth Mother 5 years ago that I saw my own mortality and it was hard to face. We’re technically family. We look exactly alike and yet we have nothing in common despite our greatest efforts.
What’s that old saying? You can’t pick your family? So what? You pick your friends? And how have you been at doing that? Just wondering. Personally I can count on one hand the amount of friends I’ve picked that are still around, that would really be there for me. And I’m lucky. I actually have around 3 or 4 true friends. That’s a lot. A real lot.
Most of us are lucky if we have one. I also have my brother. And Butch. So I’m sorted out pretty much.
We like to replace our family with friends. We make people our Mom’s and Dad’s. Have you ever become someone’s parent? I’ve been the recipient of some unresolved Mommy stuff pointed right in my direction, and man, I hated that. But I guess we all do it. I’ve played out Daddy rejection before, I never trusted anyone….it was pretty unfair now that I think about it.
But family, that’s where it all ends up for me. The love and guilt and unfulfilled needs we project onto everything in our lives. The repetitive cycle of unfinished business.
This nagging thing in my stomach because I haven’t seen my cousins daughter since she was born a year ago…..that urge to call my brother.
I wonder every day what kind of Mother I’ll be and if I’ll have worked out all of my unresolved parental garbage before dumping it on my kids.
Oh God, that’s scary.
So much of who I am is because of how I was raised and by whom. For better or worse. We are our past. And as fast as we may run we face it every day. So I ask you….
Who’s your Daddy?
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
Cass,
There is no doubt what a terrific mother you will be. If you only knew how much your music helped guide me as a single parent. Lord, fighting with my daughter over school, fly out to NYC and see you sing that new song about listening to your high school guidance counselor!!!
Is'nt there the scripture in Matthew about leaving your parents and joining your mate?
And now you have to an entire new relationship with Butch's family. At least there is some history!
Wouldn't it be nice if we all had the perfect family? Not really. It would be boring. Not to mention unrealistic. Everyone has their own version of their “family.” Whether it is the traditional nuclear family, the child being raised by a relative, the school family, the friends family, the work family. Every aspect of our life incorporates new relationships that hook onto that chain of “family.” We may not be close to every person within that family, but that relationship exists. And how we involve ourselves within those relationships makes us a family member in that relationship, regardless of how it plays out.
We may have issues with our “families,” but who doesn't. Whether or not I choose speak to my self-infused father, or call my grandparents on a daily, weekly, monthly, biannually basis does not exclude me from that family. I agree with Ninfa, family is unconditional. People may drive you crazy, but at least you know what to expect. Like I said, no family is perfect. But each person is just an individualized piece in that puzzle.
Before I got married to my current husband, I really had to do some soul searching about my doubts about marriage. Having come from a family of divorce, it was hard to see beyond the “what if's.” But I did, and nearly 8 years later, I am so very happy I did. Because you cannot wait for the what ifs to go away or the trepedation to disappear.
We are a product of our past. Even further than the first generation behind us. How we interpret things, how we react to things, and how we move forward, has all been built on and affected us from many generations past. (The Historian coming out in me.) It is how we choose to use that information to move forward and be who we want to be.
Children are a gift. I have two. And I am a better person for having had them. Anyone would be lucky to receive such a precious gift. Regardless of their past.
How common, spoken, unspoken and important-all at the same time.
I guess it's the way you hold em. you're family. your friends. children. (gettin that plant is a start, although a green thumb I am not, I tend to kill everything green), but when Anthony (he's 6) takes a bite of that frozen push-up pop, and then gets this expression on his face, his eyes widening-cuz he's not sure HOW to get that piece UNLODGED from his throat, I SEE it. I KNOW it. Something is different and I might have to save him. And the surprising fact is that there's a good chance I can.
I hold my father differently since he passed away. Well, actually since I WATCHED him die. I appreciate the characteristics of his that I carry around. And when his second wife decided NOT to give us his ashes—I was angry. Until I looked at my hands and remembered how I walked and knew that it was exactly the same as him. That when I sold his toolbox to that kid–it was way underpriced, but, that kid was just starting out and didn't have that much money— that's what my dad would've done, too.
I'm not adopted.
But, my nephew is. Why does he have the same dry sense of humor that my mother and my sisters have? Even at 3yrs old? I love him the same. Was it in him already or did he “pick it up” from us? I hold him the same as all the children in my life.
Sitting on the beach with a dear friend. Someone close to both of us just lost her life to cancer. She was only 50-something. I wondered why everyone waited until someone was gone to say things about them–how they felt, memories–ya know love stuff. Eulogies. My friend and I decided not to wait. We gave each other the eulogy that day, on the beach. I gotta say. We took it seriously and some of the things she said about me, I had no idea. Deep. Worthy. Wow.
I guess all I'm trying to say is that “yeah. I get it. I get what you mean. I understand the doubt. the mother stuff. The carrying of it all”
This black sheep has managed to turn it around…but only because I put myself out there and took a risk, didn't stop believing in people after the inevitable “let downs”…still pushed forward…huggy arms out. and I caught stuff. Love from a family who questioned me all me life. Unending loyalties from friends, and ooooo the unconditional love of the kids in my life—-its gotta top it all.
Thanks Cass for puttin yourself out there.
wow – a powerful blog, Cassidy! I think that you will be an awesome parent! Also, your music is amazing and touches me every time I hear it – thanks!
OMG Cass… I can't believe how you just put into words exactly what I've been thinking since I moved (to be closer to my family) I also was raised in a Catholic Italian American family. I didn't realize until I moved that every single move I make is to please my ever-unpleased family. Everything from my job right down to my haircut. and forget family get togethers, they are TORTURE!
Living this way hasn't done a damn thing for me so far other than make me wanna scream. I feel like I was meant for something so much better and I feel like the family that says they want so much for me is actually holding me back. But I love em so what can ya do? right?
wow… it was good to get that out LOL
From A Fan:
Wow…your timing is impeccable as always. Having just returned from a week long trip to visit family I have been struggling with so many of the things you've mentioned. I can't wait to see them but a week is PLENTY long enough.
I DO family…I “show up” consistently….moved back to Chicago to be nearer to family but often find myself needing to isolate myself from them because it's too much and not that I am the black sheep but definitely the different one, the head strong stubborn one who needs separation from them sometimes and is definitely misunderstood.
I push and I pull I push and I pull. I crave time with my family and then find myself racing back 12 hours in a car from the East coast JUST to hang out with friends and grill out and soak them in. My friends are my family…they get me, they get my quirks and somehow they still want to hang out and love me!
It's a mind boggling repetitive cycle
Thanks. I feel understood.
Your post was timely, Cassidy, since I, too, have been thinking about family lately. I regret that my sister and I grew up with little sense of family. That doesn't mean that I sit around moping about our lack of family. I left home and made my own life (far away) long ago. But it IS difficult for more than a few folks, like myself, to grit our teeth and smile when society assumes that no matter what, we should all maintain some kind of warm fuzzy feeling for and connection to our family because, hey, they're our family.
Here's a brief story from the “other” kind of family. I think that you'll get it. The rest of you don't judge folks like me too harshly because we don't fit the Hallmark Card model of a family.
My mother (a difficult and mentally ill person to say the least) died unexpectedly after some routine surgery maybe 6 or 7 years ago. She was 62, I think. I wouldn't have bothered to drive 8 hours or so “home,” except my sister wanted my help. So I went. My sister and I made all the decisions, since my father never was never the most functional person in the world. We weren't about to pay for some fancy funeral. Let the funeral business rip someone else off. This viewpoint had its comical moments when some funeral home director that I phoned about cremation costs got offended telling me that “I guess cost is a consideration for you!” As if we should hand some funeral home a blank check!
My mother was cremated for $800. No funeral. No obituary in the paper, either. Obituaries aren't free. Her cremation was put on my sister's credit card, a fitting end since she always spent money that we didn't have. Upon cleaning house after her death, my sister and father found her pre-surgery “to do” list which included the task of “running up my father's credit cards.” I kid you not! My brother-in-law, an attorney, had to dig my witless father out of bankruptcy.
When we did the paperwork at the funeral home, the director offered us all a one last brief visit with my mother, if so desired. My sister and Aunt took him up on the offer…and then cried a while in the bathroom. My father took a look. They had suffered through a crummy marriage for god knows how long, so I guess he felt that it was the thing to do. My college age niece and I said thanks but no thanks. I offered to take everyone out to lunch afterwards, but they weren't hungry. I was.
My mother's ashes now sit in a box in some dresser in my father's house. I haven't been back there since all this happened. It is what it is. The End.