Pack Creek Ranch, San Juan County, Utah
Summertime in progress – hot, dry windy weather.
But cool and calm at night – full moon rising by the weekend.
(*caveat – What follows is a story – only partly mine – but the person who told it to me agreed to have me share it if she could edit the final draft for the sake of privacy and security. And she did that.)
PATHWAY PERSPECTIVE – PART 3 – post Father’s Day
The first thing that came to mind when I stopped to sit down in my “Thinking Chair” this morning was the memory of an unexpected conversation. A woman I didn’t recognize came to my door, and the first thing she said was “The last time you saw me I was 17 years old.”
(Back story: She attended the high school where I taught – but wasn’t a student I knew well or one I had kept in touch with over the last 36 or so years. Wow. Surprise!)
“What brings you to Moab?”
“I’m on my way to Albuquerque to meet the father of my only child . . . and to take part in a family reunion of maybe 20 of my daughter’s half-siblings. . . . and I needed to talk to someone like you before I get there.”
I’ve been around for quite a while now, but my mental manual does not have an advice section on how to respond to this opening remark or to the rest of her personal life story, which she unpacked as if rehearsing what she would say at the gathering in Albuquerque.
She reminded me that she was the only child of parents who were very conservative – socially, politically, financially, and religiously.
Like many high school students caught up in the churn of social adolescence and the genetic onset of puberty, she spent her high school years confused about her gender identity. She was not attracted to boys or girls and spent her time focused on academics. She thought of herself as a nerd – a grind – an outsider. But the payoff was acceptance with full scholarship offers to three elite universities.
Her first roommate was from Puerto Rico – “a brilliant brown wild child” – Latina mother, Jewish father – and openly lesbian. To make a long story necessarily short and simple, my visitor became a LUG – a lesbian until graduation. An identity that suited her, but not her parents, from whom she was soon alienated. Ditto the Puerto Ricans.
Time passed – her relationship with her roommate became a close companionship, then a love story, then a life commitment. When the two women decided they wanted to have a family of their own, they agreed to engage a sperm bank and she would carry the child.
And now the difficulties began. As they considered the catalogs describing the donor candidates, they realized how little they anticipated the consequences of having a mixed-race child.
It’s sufficient to say here that the little girl who was born was very White – so white that the couple agreed not to take her back to Puerto Rico. The antagonism between the couple became so acrimonious that they separated, and my visitor became a single parent.
I tell you all this to bring you to the present moment and a set of values held by a younger generation. The sperm donor was a medical student who had agreed to meet any of his progeny when they became adults and wanted or needed to know their biological history. Three of the older half-siblings had connected with the sperm donor and each other – and that went wonderfully well. So, the story rushes on. There are now 21 known members of what the group calls their Super Family.
Last year they gathered for a family reunion on Father’s Day. 19 half-siblings attended – and now this year the mothers were invited to the reunion, and that brought my visitor to my door.
She is exceptionally bright – and successful – academically speaking. Emotionally. . . well – not comfortable with the way her life has turned out.
After a two-hour monologue, she began to cry.
“Who am I – why can’t I have a normal life – what happened to happy ever after? Why do I have to go to Albuquerque?”
And so forth and so on.
She went to the family reunion.
Time passed.
Her daughter called this morning.
“My brothers and sisters of The Super Family want to hold their reunion in Moab next year.”
“How many are coming?”
“Too soon to know, but a bunch, and our dad for sure.”
“Is this OK with your mother?”
“Yes. She’s now chairperson of the Mother Division of the Super Family. And the mothers want you to be the main speaker at the reunion. Uncle Bobby – aka Captain Kindergarten.”
There’s a whole lot more to this story so far – and more to come. None of us are normal – none of our families are standard – but if you choose to connect with those who want to connect with you, that’s a beginning. It’s not weird if it works.