Monday Notes: It Wasn’t All Bad

My debut memoir, In Search of a Salve includes heavy topics. I’ve been steeped in trauma talk, recovery research, and recovery processes for the past nine years. Being immersed in recovery life and writing about specific events has been…a lot, to say the least. Writing this memoir has required that I be hyper-focused on one topic. So, I thought I’d write something centered on happier memories, not as a form of toxic positivity, because that’s a no-no in my world, but rather, just as a reminder that there is balance in all things. All families shape us in positive and not-so positive ways, and my adoptive family was no different.

My (adoptive) mother

My mother recognized that I was gifted, and as a result, enrolled me into a gifted elementary school program, which fed into a gifted middle-school program, which fed into a gifted high school program. Without this, I would have attended a neighborhood school, like most other Black children on the West Side of Chicago. I briefly played with those kids and had a glimpse of who they were. I shudder to think what that would have looked like five days a week. Attending special schools for 11 years afforded me to not only have a strong academic base, but to also develop a lifetime of friendships with people who looked and thought like me, which affirmed one identity. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

My (adoptive) father

My father was traditional in the way he operated. He taught me how to drive and often reminded me that I can’t drive the other person’s car and mine. “Just focus on what you’re doing,” he’d reprimand. If you’ve ever ridden with me, then you know I still haven’t learned this lesson. He was also traditional in the way he warned me about the opposite sex. “All boys want one thing,” he told me. “They are always thinking with the little head, not the big one.” Finally, my father taught me something that I observed adults berate him for; he taught me to dream big. In the mid-80s, well before electric cars were seen as cost and energy efficient, he constantly worked to convert a neon blue Opal GT from gas to electric. He created an air freshener line, and according to his best friend, a major company stole his idea. No matter the outcome, watching my father helped me to see how to dream and bring one’s ideas into fruition.

My (adoptive) grandparents

I had two sets of grandparents, but everyone knows when I say, “my grandparents,” I’m talking about my mother’s parents. Well into my pre-teen years, I spent a lot of time with them during the summer. My grandfather was the president of the local school board; consequently, his role meant he and my grandmother would attend annual school board conventions. As their only grandchild (at the time), that meant I was in the back seat. They introduced me to travelling the country. Before I was 16, I’d seen much of the United States, and for this I am appreciative. Because of their influence, I learned the world was literally my oyster, that I could live anywhere. A lot of people fear leaving their home state or community due to the unknown. I’ve never had that innate sense of trepidation, and it’s partly because of my grandparents.

Other family

Other family members have positively influenced me in sporadic ways. For example, my oldest first cousin introduced me to the idea of “being myself” when I was a pre-teen. I remember proclaiming I wanted to be like her, and her immediate response was “You shouldn’t want to be like anyone, other than you.” When I was a child, my mother’s sister taught me how to riffle shuffle cards with a bridge, something I continue to impress people with to this day. She also sent me care packages when I was in undergrad, a generous act that helped me to feel connected. My other grandmother, my father’s mother always allowed me to be myself, sans judgment, which is no small act in a society that is full of constant criticism.

The family I was adopted into was like most families. There was some good, and there was some bad. And as always, sometimes the good can outweigh the bad or the bad can outweigh the good. Either way, I’m finally not ashamed to admit which one was the case for me. I’m ready to share the truth out loud.

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