Never Walked In High Heels

This week I’ve been reading about an old friend and her family history. In recent months this author has become a substitute grandmother, filling me in with all sorts of wisdom, platitudes, and calming truths that I was never given. She tells in her books about her own family, how her great grandmother was the daughter of the ambassador to Spain, and grew up in the Spanish courts. How her parents were reporters, following news stories wherever they could in the days of WWI. They were citizens, soldiers, and those who enlisted bravely. Women who knew how to use a sword and run a house at the same time.

And then there’s my family. We’re from mid-America, poor, and relatively suburban. Well, not really suburban I suppose, though it seems particularly uneventful to me. I’m pretty sure that a member of the family or two had a run in with the law. We have no heirlooms that I know of. My grandparent’s basement is legendary for holding things but nothing really of any value. And they know that most people when they grow up and become independent adults, they choose to become close to their family. They leave for a while and then return, settling down and starting a family of their own. But doing that was never really in my mind when I embarked on adulthood.

They say that a family is equal to your roots and that having such people in your life will guide you as well as make you grow tall and strong. But, what if the roots you come from don’t run particularly deep? Or you don’t necessarily want to go in the direction that they’re going? What then? To what extent is blood thicker than water? And does this really mean anything? Are you necessarily bound to any family just because your genetic code is similar in some way?

In college, I was the only girl in my dormitory who didn’t come from what could easily be termed as “old money.” Lots of girls had monograms engraved on their tote bags or jackets with family shields pinned on them; their emblems and symbols, histories and romances ran deep. So deep that it was nearly legendary. And then there was me. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was surprising that people even existed who treasured their bloodline so much. All of this (…?), the weight of standing on your ancestor’s shoulders seemed to be the only way to get anywhere in a new southern society.

For those of us who lack an ancient family tree that’s knotted and crooked in some places, although strong and formidable, if we don’t have such roots, do we stand alone? My family can be considered small and when I am away from them in the United Kingdom, holidays can be rough. It is during this time that everyone goes to their family. But, after several years I have learned that a family is made, created almost, rather than genetically passed down. I find myself in the UK with people who are closer to me than cousins and young women who have become my sisters within the past several years. Because like any transplant, we go down, digging our own roots and holding on to whatever we possibly can. Once we’re a little bit stable, we reach out and make our own new family.