alexis in the city

You ain’t got the sense you was born with

When I was a kid, reading was a huge part of our family culture; emphasis was placed on reading individually (complete with parentally-mandated summer book lists), reading communally (I led reading groups both at my school and the library), and, yep, reading as a family. Until I left home, my parents read to us nearly every night. Of course as we matured so did the books, but when we were younger the story of Epaminondas and his Autie was part of our familial lexicon. If it looks racist - or at the least, very un-PC and culturally insensitive - well, it kind of is. But in my mom’s defense she gave us a detailed explanation of why she’d chosen to include it in our literary education. That aside, the book is the story of, you guessed it, Epaminondus, who is sent on a series of tasks by his Auntie, does each one miserably incorrectly, and is told “you ain’t got the sense you was born with!”

I’m not going to use this post to expand on issues that could possibly surround this book at the time of its writing (c’mon, it was published in the early 1900s!) or list the jokes my sister and I now have because of it. But rather, I bring it up to point out that, like Epaminondas, we all deal with certain aspects of our selves and our lives that we were born with. The specifics of what these are can be generally up for debate, but one is not: our families.

We cannot choose the families we’re born with.**

A simple statement, yes, but it’s not something I’ve thought about much until recently. The fact that I haven’t had to think about it by definition implies that my family experience, well, didn’t necessitate much in the way of that type of thinking. And I mean that in a good way. As I’ve gotten older, forged more friendships and heard more life stories, I’ve realized that toleration alone is the goal of many people in regards to their families

I’m an over-achiever, empowered to do whatever I set my mind to, and holding myself to sometimes unattainable standards. But it’s humbling and gratitude-inspiring to know that (nature vs. nurture debate aside) perhaps one of the biggest deciding factors in the trajectory of my life had nothing to do with me. What it had to do with was my parents, and their parents before them, and their commitment to creating a nurturing, stable environment where I would know I was the most important thing in their lives no matter the extenuating circumstances.

That’s not to say that there weren’t rough periods - even rough years - or that there still aren’t touchy subjects and areas in which we, as a family, all fall short. But as I get a little closer to the parental stage of my own life I’m even more impressed and humbled by the foundation my parents gave me. And what’s really awe-inspiring to me is they were younger than me when they began to create this foundation. (!!) On a good day, I can still sometimes barely get my head on straight, so their proficiency amazes me even more.

On Mother’s Day, I wish I could thank my mom for choosing to place me in this family (that thanks goes to Someone else entirely). But I can thank her for what she did for me, every step of the way, once I became a member of said family. If behind every strong man is a strong woman, then behind every strong woman is a staunchly stalwart mother.

And I must also thank her for making Epaminondas a part of my personal lexicon.

(oh, and for having this awesome haircut/perm situation that I can post 20 years later for everyone to enjoy)

**(I would be neglecting my own interests if I didn’t mention that some of this gets a little murkier with adoption, but for self-referential purposes, I’m looking at things from the point of view of a member of a biological family. And given my own interest in adoption, I by no means mean this post to be a slight to those who have different familial roots.)

Only Adoption

I’ve been bothered for a long time by the idea that childbirth was an assumed progression in a woman’s life. At first - eventhough it didn’t sit well with me - I didn’t give it too much thought. I figured (read: hoped) my feelings would change and if they didn’t I suppose I subconsciously assumed that I would just do it anyway. After a while I did begin to think about it a lot - so much so that whenever it came up in conversation I would turn into a basket case.

This led to the institution of the five year moratorium on any broader conversations about future childbearing plans. During this time, Ryan helped me realize that we could do whatever we wanted; there was no “assumed progression” we had to follow. Because we saw ourselves with a family one day, but I didn’t see myself as a biological mother, we began to discuss adoption.

My sentiments on the motherhood issue made me feel so … removed from the rest of femininity. Over those five years, and since then, many of my friends had kids. And for those that didn’t it typically wasn’t because they didn’t want them but for other, often pragmatic, reasons. That’s not to say I wasn’t happy for them - watching people close to me transition to biological parenthood has been exciting (and often humorous) but it was and continues to be a desire and experience I have no emotional frame of reference for.

In spite of the knowledge that I can march to the beat of my own drum, that my family can look however I want it to, and the belief that these feelings (or lack there of) are a sure sign we should pursue adoption, I find myself frequently wondering what’s wrong with me. This is the background I’m bringing to a paper I’m writing on the ethics of “only adoption.” And after having done some preliminary research I’m again experiencing that “am I the only one?” feeling.

Most of what I read (and, granted, a lot of it has been in the Christian vein so that may be part of it) treats adoption as an option if you can’t have kids, or want to add to an already-existing biological family. The premise I’ll be arguing against in my paper is that biological childbearing is an ethical Christian directive. And as much as I’ve found to support adoption, I have yet to see it acknowledged as the first choice of families.

Again, I’m staring down the assumption that biological families are a goal most people pursue. And actually, statistically, this is probably true. But it’s a big world and I’m certain I’m not the only person making this choice. As much as I love that my life has been somewhat un-standard, I guess it still upsets me that others assume I would want a certain statistical standard. Even though I know I shouldn’t care what other people think.

I guess it’s fine; Ryan and I have already decided when the time comes for us to actively pursue the adoption process, we’ll get shirts that say, “Yes, I’m fertile. I chose this.”

The Grinch who loved Christmas, or, my efforts to go giftless

It wasn’t until this year that I realized you can both simultaneously love Christmas, and in fact the whole holiday season, and still be cynical and annoyed by it. I realized this because I am that person.

That’s right: I’m a Grinch. But I swear it’s for all the right reasons.

The biggest thing for me this year is gift-giving. I didn’t used to want to abolish the gifting tradition - in fact, I would get upset and argue with Ryan about it when he brought it up. He’s long been a proponent of giftless holidays, making the case that the best gift was something unexpected at an unexpected time. I have, however, always been in favor of giving experiences not things, and for many years the two of us have mostly operated under this practice. I can’t remember the last time we exchanged literal, physical gifts for a holiday or birthday, opting instead for trips, theater tickets, museum memberships, and my personal magnum opus gift - the World Class Driving experience.

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Off we go, into the wild blue yonder

I don’t have much to say that hasn’t already been said about the service of our veterans or the debt our nation owes the people who choose to spend their lives protecting us. I will say that being an Air Force brat has given me an opportunity to see just a fraction of what this service looks like for the people who dedicate their lives to it, and for that I’m immensely grateful. It’s not always pride and parades, sometimes it’s tragedy and funerals, or the minutia of day-to-day life; but having that spectrum of experiences as an integral part of my life is something that continues to define me even as my direct connections to the military grow more elastic.

I’ve also been lucky that the direct connection I do have - my dad - has rarely caused the fear or panic that I know many military families face. Since my dad’s time is spent in hearings and meetings, and rarely directly involved in conflict, my military experience has likely been different from than the experience of many others. I’ve had opportunities to do things like speak to wounded veterans at Walter Reed and visit servicemembers who were working on holidays - experiences that have proven to be memorable, pivotal moments in my life. The brat community is a culture all to itself and one I’m proud to be a part of.

Ok, so somehow I made this post about me, when I really wanted to just say a few words of heartfelt thanks to our veterans - those who have served and those who still do - from the perspective of someone who’s been privileged enough to see some aspects of their service in a personal way.

My Reverse Childhood

I was born 30. At least. And in some ways I’ve continued to age to the point where I’m now somewhere in my late 50’s. In terms of my social life I am and always have been pretty lame. I never partied and never really wanted to. I never experimented with drugs or sex. I went to class and went to bed on time. I ran for student government … blahblahblah. You get the point.

I’m slowly catching up in some areas - I played beer pong for the first time last weekend with my neighbors - but I’m still that girl who brings wine to a kegger. More than once. And I know some people think all this will catch up to me and sometime soon I’ll become a raging partier with more rebellion than sense. It could happen but I’m skeptical - in part because I’m living my childhood now, and I kind of think I appreciate it a lot more.

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