I have a dream

For as long as I can remember, I always dreamt of having an eclectic family; one that traveled, spoke different languages, valued and learned about many cultures, and one that was itself a blend of cultures.

In my mind, a mixed relationship was a utopia; the ultimate testament to the ability of love to unite people across differences. And children born of this utopia were thereby representations of love’s ability to transform the world; they would be living and walking inspiration to any who doubted in love’s power.

I cannot identify precisely when this dream began. I imagine it started when I got my first taste of traveling abroad; we traveled to Israel, and to this day I can vividly recall feeling alive in my attempts to absorb this different culture. I curiously tried to understand the religious and cultural customs practiced there. I enjoyed trying new foods, attempting the language, taking in everything different than my norm. Feeling different felt invigorating to my 12 year old self. [later I will explore how this excitement over wanting to feel different was in many ways indicative of my privilege… but we’ll save that for a later blog post :)]

Because I was fortunate to be raised in a generous, wealthy family, traveling quickly became a passion of mine that I was able to pursue. I was fortunate to have been able to travel abroad on countless occasions before ever graduating from college. Not only was travel invigorating to me, but I think it helped me see that there was so much more out there than my little world.

I grew up in a wealthy suburb in Ohio. My world was White; American White; Wealthy American White.  I think I had one friend whose family proudly celebrated their Irish heritage… but the rest of my white friends were just white. Though I knew somewhere down the line I was Irish and German, for all intents and purposes we were white. And for whatever reason this always felt boring to me. There was no food or dress or music that felt like home. While at that time, I experienced my family as intact and supportive, it felt like it lacked zest. I made friends with classmates whose families were from Mexico, Spain, and the Philippines and was always so anxious to learn more about these cultures and languages. I saw in their families cultural traditions that signified belonging and home, traditions that could travel anywhere in the world with them that would make a home wherever they ended up, so long as it was together. And moreover, the love in these families, though not refined or perfect or pristine, it was so evident that the love runneth o’er.

So in my head, I always envisioned an eclectic family. Mine would be a family that had music and food and customs that felt like home. Mine would be a family that was messy and loud and rowdy. In my family, the love would overflow.

And so I fell in love at 18 years old. I worked in the dining room of a retirement home, and there a co-worker became a mentor, and later – many years later, my mother in law.

What’s funny is that had I married someone from a romanticized place like Spain or Mexico or even the Philippines, my life would be so different now. My parents for whatever reason would have supported that kind of mixed marriage. But marrying an African American man – that is outside of the picture.

As I write this, I see such wisdom in my high school self, the self that yearned for some sense of belonging… because while I would eventually find my family and my belonging, my belonging turned out to not be within my immediate family.

I won’t delve into all the words and hurts and tears and the reasons; but suffice it to say that my love for my now husband was a deal breaker for my parents. But in loving my husband, I found my culture and my belonging. My husband and his family are the warmest, most loving people in the world. His Grandma Mary called me family the first day she met me. The love runs deep and strong; and while the food and music and tradition are rich and beautiful, what I ultimately found is that it is the love that brings family together; I wonder – was it love my family was lacking?

I always dreamt of having an eclectic family. And I can honestly say I have that now. And while I no longer believe that a Utopian marriage exists, I know I’m about as close as I can come to one with my husband. When I look at my kids, I truly do see the deepest and truest love; no easier choice would have ever been worth not having them. Are they walking testaments to love’s unifying ability? To any person who can see through the chaos, the love is so clear; but overall this will be a forever work in progress!  Making sure the world sees them as I dream they will is going to take a lot of work, but that’s what this blog is for.

PS – Do you say dreamed or dreamt? Thankful for this article that helped me understand why my “dreamt” had the red squigglies… and why despite the red squiggles I opted to use it!