Connection...

Otherwise known as... The Identity Crisis?

Recently I've been thinking a lot about roles.  I have excelled at, and have been quite terrible at, any of the following roles in the past 42 years:  daughter, school counselor, friend, girlfriend, lover, runner, swimmer, home cook, gardener, fiancee, student, niece, cousin, teacher, hiker, traveler.  And more...

From daughter spawns granddaughter, great granddaughter, and even great-great granddaughter, as my great-great grandmother lived until I was 13 years-old, and even though I was afraid of her aged appearance, and great shock of white hair, I was privileged to know her.  Her name was Sally, but we called her Ma. 

I am one quarter buxom blonde, who earned the title Miss Key West after being forced to move to Key West from New Jersey to stay with an aunt and uncle after her father was tragically killed in a car accident.  She wore slacks, was a working mother in the 50s, and was fond of saying "What ails you?" when I acted spoiled, which was often.  One quarter country boy, who left home at 16 to join the Navy (and meet that buxom blonde.) and eventually became the HR Manager for all of the Southeast for Western Electric after putting himself through thirteen years of night school at University of Miami.  One quarter proper lady, daughter of a Hollywood cameraman, who taught me where the glasses go on a place setting, was aggravated when she noticed typos while watching the news, and went to USC before most women had the privilege.  One quarter orphan, adopted by a wealthy businessman and his wife, and went on to become an engineer and work on Polaris, among other projects.

I carry their stories in my soul.

I have my father's hair, and my mother's skin.  If I am lucky I will have my mother's boundless energy, and my father's caring heart.

This weekend I am going to a family reunion in rural southern Georgia.  I haven't attended this reunion in over twenty years.  While my father was alive, he went faithfully every year.  I teased him that he only went to eat the good Southern food.  Corn bread.  Black-eyed peas.  Collard greens.  Chicken and dumplings.  And more.  In truth, he loved to listen to the old stories of the farm, and the three sisters from one family who married three brothers from another.  He loved to embrace the folks he only saw once a year, be among them, and remember his father.  I know that is ultimately why he attended the reunion.  Because being around these folks kept him connected to his Dad.

This year the reunion is on my dad's birthday.  And so, for the first time since I was a sullen teenager, I will travel, and eat, and listen.  And keep our connection going.  Because what else do we have, if we are not connected to our history?