SANFORD: Differences, similarities define family members

Have you ever wondered if you were actually left in a basket on the doorstep?

Have you ever gone to a family reunion and actively hoped no one asked you any questions about your life?

Has your mother ever given you that raised eyebrow look? The one that, in a single facial twitch, accurately conveys “That makes no sense whatsoever, and we absolutely do not approve, let alone understand, but you’re an adult so you’re allowed to do as you please, just don’t expect us to encourage you, though of course, as your parents, we will always be there for you, and we do love you, even if we think you’re being crazy or stupid or both, but since you’re capable of making your own decisions (in theory), we are not going to say anything about it at all.”

Yeah, that look.

My mother set out to raise an independent, responsible, strong and intelligent daughter. I’m more or less certain she succeeded.

Naturally, she felt any child even half as intelligent as she was would come to all the same conclusions about life, the universe and everything. Thus, she never felt the need to discuss with her daughter the conclusions she herself had come to on things such as religion, political affiliation and ethics. After all, surely they were obvious.

And her daughter naturally assumed she would, in the end, come to all of the same conclusions, because, after all, her mother was an independent, responsible, strong, intelligent woman.

We were both a little surprised to realize that almost the exact opposite had occurred.

I’ve been wondering about this recently. I’m sure I’m not alone in this. I’ve been wondering how it happened and what I do now.

When I was about ten, my mom explained to me what homosexuality was, because some person had been fired from their job, and I didn’t understand why.

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“Well, you wouldn’t want them teaching your kids, would you?” she replied, as if it were simple and matter-of-fact.

I didn’t say anything, partly because I was only ten, and partly because I was honestly stumped. “What’s wrong with them teaching your kids?” I wondered.

At a family reunion last year, I almost managed to avoid offending everyone there. Almost.

My vegetarianism is a closely held family secret. My grandmother says the word like a curse, worse even than the fact that I don’t go to church anymore.

Well, of course, around the third day, someone in the know wondered if I was getting enough to eat within earshot of my great-uncle Vernon, a man born wearing cowboy boots.

“How come you don’t eat meat?” he demanded.

And I answered in absolutely the worst way possible: “Well, it’s a moral issue. I don’t want to kill anything.” Thereby implying that all you bloody meat-eaters are immoral, which couldn’t be further from my actual opinion. (In truth, it’s just a personal choice, like smoking or drinking or tanning.)

He just looked at me from beneath the brim of his silver cowboy hat for a minute.

“So I guess you don’t like war, either?”

It was a serious question, but inside I was laughing. Trust my practical Midwestern family to drill right down to the heart of the matter.

I might seriously consider the basket-on-the-doorstep theory if I wasn’t actually so much like my family. My sense of humor is straight from my dad and all of his irreverent and loud-mouthed uncles. I think like my mother and sound like her, too. (A trait I used to my advantage in fourth grade to call myself in sick to school at least once a week. It took them four weeks to catch on and call my mother at work.)

So what if I don’t see any point in making the bed – you’re just going to mess it up 16 hours later – and my mother doesn’t see any point in leaving it unmade? So what if my Dad loves only team sports, and I love only individual sports? So what if all of my cousins have agriculture degrees, and I’d rather study existential phenomenology? So what if any discussion of politics or religion drives my brother to leave the room, or the house, entirely?

The great English poet, Milton said: “Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, many opinions; for opinion in good men is knowledge in the making.”

To say I chose to be the person I am is like accusing someone of choosing to like or dislike the taste of tuna fish. People just do.

Living in a family, and a society, in which you are so drastically different requires more than just tolerance; it requires radical acceptance. You must accept that fundamentally, despite all the differences, we are all the same – all trying to figure things out.

Which is why no matter what harebrained, save-the-world idea I come up with next, my mother only raises an eyebrow.

Monica Sanford is a graduate student in architecture and community and regional planning. Reach her at monicasanford@dailynebraskan.com.