Things we hand down...

Nature versus nurture.
I can honestly say that I never truly gave it any thought until recentley.

Which is odd, because when it comes to blended families, I have most of the bases covered. My biological parents, when together, had just moi. However, I have my stepfather, biological father, biological mother, step mother, (8) Half Brothers and sisters and just oodles of step and biological aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. My step-family really isn’t my step-family, they took me in when I was 3 and I wouldn’t trade them for the universe. I was blessed to be given loving Grandparents and a dad who love me very much.
For as long as I can remember, I have been the “odd man out”. I don’t have a full family history of where it is that I come from. When I was younger, I would be jealous that my 3 younger siblings had parents that were still together and knew their full family tree.
However, the irony comes into play that most people tell me I look, laugh and am a “people” person, like my biological father. There has to be something to the nature thing. I look nothing like anyone from my mother’s gene pool, to the extent; people actually ask her if I was adopted.

My mother and I share absolutely nothing in common. Nothing. Not one thing.
Okay, our love of going to our place up-north and the water, but I also share that with my Aunts. I am stubborn and bad tempered to the point of ridiculous, which is something that my maternal grandfather was to a fault.
But at the end of the day, I am my father’s daughter. I find a strange comfort in that connection. People and places that I do not know, are a part of what makes me, me. The older I get, the more I want the complete novel. I want to be able to answer the question at the Dr’s office “What is your father’s medical history” with something other than “no clue”. Does he like the smell of pumpkin too? What is his favorite color? Does he think clowns are scary and should be banished forever? (I had to get that from somewhere, just saying)
My oldest and dearest friend Cindy just told me that she is expecting her first child. There are many things that I get to tell that little one about her mom. “There was this one time after school, your mom stuck up to a bully who was wearing a scary skull ring, and she punched her, and then said “Run like hell”. I wonder what parts of her will continue on with the new little one? Will she protest big hair too? Will she bake kick arse blueberry muffins from scratch? Would she know how to change the spark plugs in my car for me? When did Cindy and become adults anyway????
Will my children be as stubborn as I? Love scary movies? Be naturally bossy? Think with their heart instead of their head? When I adopt, what history will those children have? What things handed down in their own book of life?

I suppose I will do the best I can to hand over my full story when it is time for them to start writing their own pages in.




Don't know much about you

Don't know who you are

We've been doing fine without you

But we could only go so far

Don't know why you chose us

Were you watching from above

s there someone there that knows us Said we'd give you all our love

Will you laugh just like your mother

Will you sigh like your old man

Will some things skip a generation Like I've heard they often can

Are you a poet or a dancer

A devil or a clown

Or a strange new combination of The things we've handed down

I wonder who you'll look like

Will your hair fall down and curl

Will you be a mama's boy

Or daddy's little girl

Will you be a sad reminder Of what's been lost along the way

Maybe you can help me find her In the things you do and say A

nd these things that we have given you

They are not so easily found But you can thank us later

For the things we've handed down Y

ou may not always be so grateful For the way that you were made

Some feature of your father's That you'd gladly sell or trade

And one day you may look at us And say that you were cursed

But over time that line has been Extremely well rehearsed

By our fathers, and their fathers

In some old and distant town

From places no one here remembers Come the things we've handed down
-Marc Cohen