No matter how much we fight it, we still look at people as “in” or “out.” We have a lot of words for it–colleague, family, kith and kin–but ultimately, we consider some folk to be “our” folk and others to be, well, “others.”
Some of us limit this designation to “blood,” as in those who share genetic material, but of course this is problematic. Where does one draw the line? Where does one decide “that person is too far distant to be blood related.” Others decide that living arrangement makes a family. Those who live with us are our family, blood related or not.
Then there are those families that are a result of shared experiences or values. The guy on your football team is your “family.” Or the woman who loves the Dodgers as much as you do is your family. You could even consider those in the same religion as family.
Still others think of family as “those we spend time with.” In this case, co-workers might be family. Maybe even more so than those with whom you live, depending on your situation.
I’ve come to a place where I tend to think of people with whom I have a shared experience as family, especially if that shared experience is somewhat difficult or unusual. I oncer made an impromptu speech after a football game in which I referenced that popular saying, “blood is thicker than water.” See, to my way of thinking, most folk get that saying wrong. I see that as meaning “the blood of the covenant is more binding than the water of the womb.” Or, to be more prosaic, “those who have shared a difficult experience–who have shed blood together–are closer than those people who merely share the same genetics.”
So that’s where I am. I consider my “conventional” family members family (my wife, daughter, son, brother, sister-in-law, father, and so on) but I also consider my fellow teachers to be family. I consider coaches to be family. I consider umpires to be family. And I consider writers to be family.
I just came from a very pleasant conversation with a lovely man at my school who is my brother by profession twice over: he’s a teacher and a writer. I suppose, if some people have “brothers-in-law” I have “brothers-in-job” and “sisters-in-job.”
I want to clarify something here: shared experience does not necessarily mean shared perspective. This lovely man to whom I refer has a very, very different perspective than I do on quite a few things. In many ways, our lives are rather different: we seem to only share the same job.
Encountering folks who have a different life than you is supremely important (and if you can’t actually meet them for real, read about them. It’s almost as good). Broadening one’s horizons broadens what one thinks of as family.
When you get right down to it, if you believe “family” means “those who share genetic material” then all human beings are family with all other human beings. Sounds good, except that there are a few humans I do not care to call family. Adolph Hitler, for example.
So no, I can’t go with the “genetic” definition. I suppose I should add “those who share the same core values, no matter how arrived at.” When I say “core value,” I mean very basic ones. Compassion, for instance. If someone is compassionate because they find it warms their heart to be so, that person is my family. If someone is compassionate because their religion tells them to be so, that person is also my family. To a great degree, I care not how a person arrives at the value of compassion. Or kindness, or charity, or integrity, or values of those stripes.
I am fortunate indeed to have a family. My wife, daughter and son are my triune lights in the darkness of this world. My brother is a beacon of bravery, integrity and honor. My father is a pillar of wisdom and an exemplar of a life lived in service. My mother…I’ve written about her previously, and can’t do it again just now.
But my family is also the lovely man I spoke to today. And it’s the other umpires in my unit. And it’s my high school friends with whom I remain in contact even today. And it’s anyone who teaches or marshals the forces of decency against venal corruption.
I’ve got a pretty awesome family.
Be seeing you!
Some of us limit this designation to “blood,” as in those who share genetic material, but of course this is problematic. Where does one draw the line? Where does one decide “that person is too far distant to be blood related.” Others decide that living arrangement makes a family. Those who live with us are our family, blood related or not.
Then there are those families that are a result of shared experiences or values. The guy on your football team is your “family.” Or the woman who loves the Dodgers as much as you do is your family. You could even consider those in the same religion as family.
Still others think of family as “those we spend time with.” In this case, co-workers might be family. Maybe even more so than those with whom you live, depending on your situation.
I’ve come to a place where I tend to think of people with whom I have a shared experience as family, especially if that shared experience is somewhat difficult or unusual. I oncer made an impromptu speech after a football game in which I referenced that popular saying, “blood is thicker than water.” See, to my way of thinking, most folk get that saying wrong. I see that as meaning “the blood of the covenant is more binding than the water of the womb.” Or, to be more prosaic, “those who have shared a difficult experience–who have shed blood together–are closer than those people who merely share the same genetics.”
So that’s where I am. I consider my “conventional” family members family (my wife, daughter, son, brother, sister-in-law, father, and so on) but I also consider my fellow teachers to be family. I consider coaches to be family. I consider umpires to be family. And I consider writers to be family.
I just came from a very pleasant conversation with a lovely man at my school who is my brother by profession twice over: he’s a teacher and a writer. I suppose, if some people have “brothers-in-law” I have “brothers-in-job” and “sisters-in-job.”
I want to clarify something here: shared experience does not necessarily mean shared perspective. This lovely man to whom I refer has a very, very different perspective than I do on quite a few things. In many ways, our lives are rather different: we seem to only share the same job.
Encountering folks who have a different life than you is supremely important (and if you can’t actually meet them for real, read about them. It’s almost as good). Broadening one’s horizons broadens what one thinks of as family.
When you get right down to it, if you believe “family” means “those who share genetic material” then all human beings are family with all other human beings. Sounds good, except that there are a few humans I do not care to call family. Adolph Hitler, for example.
So no, I can’t go with the “genetic” definition. I suppose I should add “those who share the same core values, no matter how arrived at.” When I say “core value,” I mean very basic ones. Compassion, for instance. If someone is compassionate because they find it warms their heart to be so, that person is my family. If someone is compassionate because their religion tells them to be so, that person is also my family. To a great degree, I care not how a person arrives at the value of compassion. Or kindness, or charity, or integrity, or values of those stripes.
I am fortunate indeed to have a family. My wife, daughter and son are my triune lights in the darkness of this world. My brother is a beacon of bravery, integrity and honor. My father is a pillar of wisdom and an exemplar of a life lived in service. My mother…I’ve written about her previously, and can’t do it again just now.
But my family is also the lovely man I spoke to today. And it’s the other umpires in my unit. And it’s my high school friends with whom I remain in contact even today. And it’s anyone who teaches or marshals the forces of decency against venal corruption.
I’ve got a pretty awesome family.
Be seeing you!
RSS Feed