Tag Archives: family history

Root-y Toot Toot

13 Mar

I like to think I’m a lot calmer than I used to be.   Or that one day it would be possible to feel like I was less intense, emotional, or what have you.  In my mind, that is when I’ll finally feel real.  You know, like the Velveteen Rabbit or something.  But I guess he was first real because somebody loved him, so maybe I’m real now anyway?

And what exactly do I think I am now?  I think sometimes things are hard for me.  I think sometimes I get lost in the forest and can’t see the trees.  I think I am bombarded with touch that I don’t really want but am forced to accept and indulge because the little baby hands don’t understand that mommy wants to take a break from all the babies.  I think I’m just a person and sometimes stuff that’s seemingly easy for most is trying for me but that’s okay ‘cuz people are different.

Part of why I don’t feel real is that I don’t totally understand where I come from.  Like the whole “I don’t know my biological father” thing.  That comes out a lot more the older I get for some reason.  It is a wiggling worm inside of me that I try to squash with distractions and don’t cares and whatever else I can scrounge up.  But it never goes away.  Ethnicity and race are still two huge questions in my mind.  If I look white, am culturally white, and feel white– what do I do with the alleged fact that my bio dad is Hispanic (via Mexico, to be super specific)?  Does that hold any meaning in my life?  Does it do anything for my kids or, hell, their kids or their kids’ kids?

I feel rootless.  Or, more accurately, only about half-rooted.  In my mind’s eye I see a tree clinging to a cliff’s gravelly edge, teetering and swaying in the wind.  That’s me.  I don’t really know what my cliff is… but I’m probably a Weeping Willow, just FYI.  But, to mix my metaphor some, now I have this fruit, and it’s dangerous for it to be attached to me but it is.  Now I’m not the only one trying to hang on to loose ground, but my apples and pears (which are obviously the fruit of a Weeping Willows) are too.

Maybe it’s just hard to feel real when you only feel half-attached to your life or who you are in this really existential, weird sense.  But I feel this need to figure it out; for myself, but now ever more so for my kids.  What kind of confusing legacy to I have to pass down to them?