All in the Family

Families are wonderful things, as varied and dissimilar as snowflakes. I have experienced both the pleasure and the pain of familial piety and I have to say that at this point in my life I get the profound pleasure of redefining what family means to me.

The unit I grew up with was appropriately militant. Adopted, then reminded of my status as non-bloodline accessory to a family that pre-70's recession promised plenty of money, if not love, to provide for an additional mouth. Appropriately, my earliest memories are of the gas lines, daddies work in construction gone to a non-union (non OT) status, and exasperation if I ever asked for food or drink. As well as meals in the kitchen, where proximity to the larder assuaged any ill feelings about being excluded, and of course inappropriate baths with Daddy which ended around the age of 10.

Which is not to say I am ungrateful --- no, the Jesuits saw to it that I am firmly and forever Catholic and of course grateful for my parents, no matter how cold or cruel or even indifferent. I have made peace both with my memories and my lack of connection to anyone who cares that I exist. In a strange way, I am connected by virtue of the nature of my birth parents' anonymity, to the entire populace of any place I visit. And I certainly have fewer obligations in terms of gifts, cards and social calls. And due to the dining issues, I have so many dishes, tablecloths and napkins, rings and all sort of entertaining accoutrements that even Martha would be somewhat pleased.

So it came as a shock when I married into a very East Coast close knit family that uses any excuse to gather and party. Tablecloths, napkins and wine glasses are de rigeur, as are cards, letters, gifts and graciousness. It was and is a constant amazement to me, a delight as strange and wondrous as finding myself on the set of Family Affair with Mr. French guiding me kindly but protectively through the process of tea making.

And so it is that this week, with the birthdays of all three sisters of mine (the real ones, not the one I grew up with) coinciding with this week, that we hosted a high tea. High Tea is a very refined, very British Columbia experience, and one of the first things my new Mom and Dad did when they came out to visit their son and I was to travel to Victoria and indulge in the meal.

I am not yet used to this concept or execution of family, although moving across country to within a few hours of each sister has improved the odds of my getting the knack for learning how to do the dance. The rhythm of this clan is warm, effusive and very gracious. I'm hoping that putting out our best linens, fixing a nice afternoon meal and gathering together will help me to understand better this altogether different way of being family.

I am sure that no one will criticize and no one will have a bad time. I'm also sure that I will be welcome. And no one will eat in the kitchen. Which means there is more than enough love to go around, no matter what the economy does. I'm not too bad at Mom and Wife, because I got to make those up all by myself. But changing my mind is a bit harder. Thankfully I'm learning, little by little, how to be a daughter and a sister, too. All it takes is love.