My Side of the Family

I have one of those classic names.  Everyone has a friend with my same name, usually several, sometimes with numbers to differentiate them, others use nicknames, and some forsake the name altogether to avoid confusion.  As one in the final category, I don't use that name anymore except in certain circumstances, like around my family.

I changed my name when I went to college because before that it was impossible to change it.  No one would call me by anything but the name they'd always known, so when a clean slate was offered to me in a new town, at a new school, with none of my family around, I took it.  My parents make the effort to use my middle name only when around those that would know it better than my given name.  My siblings never bother.

That name is now little more than a stage name to me.

When necessary, I can play the role of the geeky, shy girl who keeps all to herself.  The girl that my family knows, the girl that was the name they use.  A girl who could nail an accent for a role but not fill the auditorium with her voice.  A girl who made friends by reading books off by herself.  A girl who only sometimes spoke up in class, but who could talk to her teachers for hours one-on-one.

That girl found an amazing group of people and started to bloom.

Everyone has a side of the family from their mother, and a side of the family from their father.  Me?  I have my own side of my family, too, and I don't even have a boyfriend.

My side of the family is huge.  They don't all talk to each other all the time, and they can cause drama and strife with the best of them.  They're from all walks of life, all ages, all personalities, and all styles.  All colors of the rainbow, in any sense of the word you can think of.  And we have a family reunion that's four months long, only on the weekends, every year.  The extended family shows up for the second half.

My side of the family jumps up and down and screams when they're excited.  They laugh and say, "I love you," when someone says or does something weird.  They don't always like everything, but they always encourage when someone is clearly passionate.  They're not afraid to tell each other when something is stupid or just a terrible idea, and they know how to take that kind of criticism.  They hug, kiss, compliment, and cuddle at every opportunity.  No matter what, if one of us is in danger or unhappy, everyone pitches in.

They're not a group that's for everyone.  Some people can't handle how stupendously creative we all are, especially when we gather in groups.  We can get obnoxious at restaurants, and leaving anywhere when at least four of us gather is always a multi-step process.  We're a troupe of trained monkeys who know all the song cues, not to mention the obligatory call and response or the corny jokes that are only funny still because it's traditional and we're having fun when we say them.  

They were exactly what I needed.  They didn't need me, and they probably still don't, by and large.  When I leave soon, with no clear idea on when exactly I'll be back, they'll go on next year just fine without me.  I will be missed, but not needed, and when I return, there will be work ahead of me to forge my place among them back.

I'm still a geeky, shy girl.  I still hole myself up in my room or up in trees and read.  I still have trouble striking up spontaneous conversation with strangers.  The fact is, though, that the girl I was when I arrived there stayed home in the minds of my family, and someone new went off to college.  Someone who could jump up on a table and whip her hair around without a care in the world for how stupid she looked.  A girl who could step up to be the first volunteer whether she knew what she was doing or not.  A girl who still feels her heart pound in her throat at the thought of going up on stage, but who can own that space with her voice, her presence, and her confidence.  A girl who knows who she is, and the girl my family knows never did figure that out.

I arrived in their midst an unfinished person, still floundering, but with ideas and potential.  I barely had enough confidence to throw myself at them and hope they would catch me.  I would like to finish this saying that I'm successful now, that everything's worked out, and I'm an amazing person, but that's not true.  Yet.

That's a powerful word.  I have come a long way, and I'm pretty cool.  Among my side of the family, I'm about your standard amount of awesome, which means I'm pretty spectacular among regular folks, but I don't stand out among those I respect and love the most.  I've gone from cruddy job to cruddy job, working my butt off and being respected there, but unable to get better jobs.  I'm still an unpublished author, and the best work as an actor I can get, aside from the improvisational work I do with my side of the family, is extra work that requires no auditions, only that you show up.

A lot of persistence, not to mention loads of help from my family of choice, has landed me with something spectacular, though.  This summer, I am off to teach English in Japan, fulfilling a dream I've been nursing for years.  I wouldn't call it "successful" in a general sense, but I would call it a good start.

Does my side of the family need me?  Nah.  They'll be fine if I was down the street, on the other side of the globe, or spinning through space in a blue box.  They love me, though, in a way I'd never experienced before, and which can and will reach me all the way over on that gorgeous archipelago.  I won't be in the immediate family, but they'll still think of me and love their distant cousin, coo over my pictures, and possibly threaten me with bodily harm because my life is more amazing than theirs.  When I return, however long that may take, there will be plenty who remember me and herald my return with love, hugs, and teasing.  Those who don't remember me will welcome me with open arms back into the fold because we all can recognize our own, even if it's been a long time, even if they've never met us before.

We are a family of choice.  A family that picks and chooses who comes into the fold, and then never lets go.  A family that picks up those with potential, those who need support, and gives them as many shoulders to lean on as they need.  A family that can pick up a crowbar and pry open the shell that keeps us hidden from the world.

My side of the family made me into who I am.  Go ahead, you can be jealous.