What it's like being part of a family

Growing up in my family was a wonderful experience in spite of all the little horror stories I have shared over the years. I can look back now and appreciate the good parts of my childhood with a lot more fondness and the bad parts with a lot more tolerance and forgiveness. I like to think that that has happened because I have come to realize that things could have been so much worse.

You know when you're a kid, everything is seen through very big eyes, so when things are ordinary, they are dead boring but when they are out of the ordinary, they are blown into some gigantic proportions. So people fight, who doesn't right? So I didn't always live in a mansion, I didn't live in abject squalor either. Always a roof over my head and food on the table, maybe not a Julia Child's type meal but food none the less. I don't recall ever having to go to school naked and while I didn't do the whole peewee hockey and dance class thing I did share fun times with my parents. My Mom taught me a love for puzzles, jigsaw or crossword that I still indulge in today (not a day goes by that I do not do a word puzzle or two and as a treat at Christmas time I pull out the jigsaws) I remember the many hours spent bent over the little table by the window working on a puzzle and my Dad would stop and take a look at our progress on his way from his chair in front of the TV to the fridge for a snack. It took us a while to catch on that he would always pinch a piece from the puzzle so there was always a piece missing at the end and we would have to wrestle him for it. Mom wouldn't of course, she'd leave that to us kids, but she would always say "dirty bugger" in a laughing voice.

My Dad would take me hunting with him and his dog KIM. Mostly for grouse but a couple of time I got to go along with him and his brother (uncle Leo) and my cousin Tim, camping in the snow, the first year I got camp duty (keep the fire going, collect wood etc.... but the second time I got to follow dad into the bush. He shot a moose that time. It was pretty gruesome. But since I didn't own cattle then, that moose and deer meat that he provided was what the family lived on for the year. We kept some in the freezer in the back room and the rest was kept in a rented locker space at the butchers. Mom canned some, that was good in stews. In the summer Dad fished. I loved fishing.

When we lived in the little green and white house on 6Th ave. The one with the big yard and the crab apple trees, my Dad would have us out side shovelling the snow to the side to make a wall and floor the whole yard for an ice rink. He spent hours out there at night after work flooding the ice to have it nice so we could ice skate. The neighbor kids would come to skate too. It made me feel so important.

But even more than loving the activity I love the time I spent with my parents more. What kid doesn't ?

Then I left home, went hippy for a couple of years, got married. My parents and younger sister lived in the same town, an older sister not far away, I thought it was going to be nice. But then my parents moved to another province, taking my younger sister with them for a while and my older sister moved far away too. I felt so abandoned and alone. My younger sister did move back later, for a few years, but was busy living her own life, as she should have. But later, she and her family and my older sister moved to where my parents had retired. It seemed to me (as silly as it may sound) that they were a family again, and that I was an outsider. My father only saw my son four times (at ages 3,6,10 and 15)

When I went to visit I always felt awkward. Like I didn't fit in anymore. They were having Sunday suppers together, playing board games and sharing life and those times were so few and far between as a kid that I still wanted to be a part of them as an adult. I was very envious of the time they spent together. I felt resentful toward my husband and our farm, for keeping me from moving there too and being apart of that family again and if I didn't save my money and go down there to visit I would have never seen them at all. Funny enough though, when I would go there, I was almost always disappointed, it just didn't feel the way I had imagined it would. That is so true with many things in life I think.

My younger sister asked me a question few years ago (she and my Mom had just had their first contact with a brother given up for adoption), and I have to admit to being quite hurt by it at first. "WHY DID YOU COME ?)

On hearing that they had received a video tape of this brother and his family I was filled with an overwhelming need to be there and be a part of it. So I went there for a visit (which involves flying, I hate flying) I know they were perplexed as to why I had come. I don't think you can understand why I felt the need to be there unless you are on the outside (in this case, the family circle) looking in. Like a kid with her face smashed up against the store front window staring at the miniature Christmas wonderland display. Always outside looking in. That's me.

I did the same thing when my Dad died, and even I asked myself why I felt that I had to come, Mom didn't need me, she had my sisters and grand kids.

So when my Mom passed away, I wanted to be there, very badly. But I made myself not go. I thought , they don't need me. Funny thing was, I needed them.

I would be there everyday if I could. But this farming is what I do and I can't afford to quit doing it right now. That makes it hard to go anywhere, but I still go, I try for once a year, because I guess I feel that if I didn't they might forget me and even though they may not need to see me I need to see them and feel like I am a part of some family. Not just any one's family, but my family, all of them, the ones who only share a parent and the one I grew up in, the one I laughed with, was scared with, cried with and rejoiced with, the one I loved, love and will love until my last breath.

When I was tough, sharp tongued little scrapper, it was my job to protect my little sister. My Mom used to tell me it was my job as her older sister to look out for her. I took that seriously, no body was allowed to bully her but me !

It just became part of who I was and am (because you don't stop doing it just because you grow up) I tried to be the older sister, going with her to parties, when I would have rather been at home reading, walking her home from her friends sleep over in the middle of the night because she got scared and wanted to come home and Mom and Dad weren't home to get her so I went in my pajamas and a jacket. I yelled at my Dad on my wedding day rehearsal night because he was mad at her and her boyfriend. I got to have her kids visit when she needed a break (little did she know she was giving me a wonderful reward). I helped her move (even though I hated that every time she did it was farther away from me) I love her and I love her kids like they were my own even though I hardly know them now.

She's been there for me too, she was at my first wedding, she was at my son's funeral and brought my Dad when my first husband passed away.

Is it any wonder then, that when she needs me I want to be there, by her side, if I could I would be there tomorrow and stay forever.

Being part of a family is a double edged sword. The pain of betrayal, rejection or indifference can cut to the very core of your soul, but is the other edge any different. To love so deeply and have such strong familial memories leaves one open to hurt too. To experience the frustration, futility and inadequacy in not being able to help someone you love so much.

I promise that my next posting will be more lighthearted, I just felt the time was right to share a few of my darker secrets.