The Fam

Yesterday I was walking with a bunch of British students to the Impy, and they were talking about their family trees, how some had traced theirs back to the landed gentry, where the money dried up, how this one sister married an escaped convict from Wales, and how, mostly, those whose families were Devon families had stayed in Devon.

I was struck with a complete sense off otherness, because none of their geneologies have to do with discovering who took a boat over and from where, what names were changed at Ellis Island or wherever it was they got off, which flood of immigrants it was that their family was a part of, or even which floods. It didn't have to do with speculating what the Old World, or the Homeland, or wherever used to be like, and wondering what crazy things your ancestors left behind that you could go back and discover. Instead, their geneology had to do with something like being part of a family that had lived in Bucks County since the dawn of time.

We had completely different understandings of where we came from, but I couldn't tell them this. It was one of those things you just sort of grok.

I've been thinking about families a lot recently. I entertained a whole slew of fatherly delusions of grandeur about raising my kids - specifically the family meeting in which I sat down and explained the burden of responsibility balanced out with an earned allowance, and also a new pet. Previously I've also had a delusion about making a variety of sandwiches before a child's first day at school so that he can pick which one he wants in his lunch.

I never said I was %100 sane.