Someone recently presented an interesting thought, which was... perhaps I was in the midst of an identity crisis. I replied that it was more likely I was being double-teamed by mid-life crisis and some sort of hormonal imbalance, but then I got to thinking about personal history and family background and realized that it might be closer to an identity crisis than she or I thought.
I have very few complete memories of any part of my life. All I can say to that is whatever I am not remembering is what has helped define who I am as a person today. But going beyond my lack of personal memories, there is a bigger picture to take into consideration. In regards to family history, ours goes back only 70 years or so. I could probably add on another 25 years from information we can piece together, but that's about it. How is that possible? For a little extra background, you can read this. My mom would have been 75 this year, my dad is 78. I never knew either of my grandmothers as they died during or just after the war. Both grandpas have been gone for close to thirty years now. I vaguely remember what they looked like, but I don’t recall ever speaking to either of them. As far as I know, one didn’t speak English and one didn’t speak at all.
I know that if you grow up without something, you never know that you are missing something. At least that’s how I feel, but, it might be different for the younger “it’s not fair” generation. I never questioned the fact that I didn’t have a grandma or two. I didn’t even think about it much until I got older. Oddly enough, there were four women in my life whom I have called “grandma” at some point. One was Scottish, one was Irish, one was South American/Native Indian and another Ukrainian. Go figure eh? Multi-culturalism at its best, Canadian style.
I have very few complete memories of any part of my life. All I can say to that is whatever I am not remembering is what has helped define who I am as a person today. But going beyond my lack of personal memories, there is a bigger picture to take into consideration. In regards to family history, ours goes back only 70 years or so. I could probably add on another 25 years from information we can piece together, but that's about it. How is that possible? For a little extra background, you can read this. My mom would have been 75 this year, my dad is 78. I never knew either of my grandmothers as they died during or just after the war. Both grandpas have been gone for close to thirty years now. I vaguely remember what they looked like, but I don’t recall ever speaking to either of them. As far as I know, one didn’t speak English and one didn’t speak at all.
I know that if you grow up without something, you never know that you are missing something. At least that’s how I feel, but, it might be different for the younger “it’s not fair” generation. I never questioned the fact that I didn’t have a grandma or two. I didn’t even think about it much until I got older. Oddly enough, there were four women in my life whom I have called “grandma” at some point. One was Scottish, one was Irish, one was South American/Native Indian and another Ukrainian. Go figure eh? Multi-culturalism at its best, Canadian style.
We, or at least I, do not have any cherished family history, no treasured heirlooms, no grand stories, no “big fish” tales, no smiling photos of mom or dad with grandma and grandpa... nothing. It just dawned on me that my life actually mimics my family history. I have no past and I have no future at present. Odd isn’t it, if you think about it. Growing up I always felt different, but then don’t most kids?
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2 comments:
I know of "interment camps" I have some really good friends in Fresno who lost everything when they were sent there. They rebuilt their lives. Not a proud time in American History.
As far as childhood, there are many things about mine that I thought were normal, until I had my own family. then realized with horror they were most definitely NOT normal. I wonder which is worse... growing up not knowing the difference, or learning later?
K:
My parents were 7 and 10 years old when internment began. (Different camps.) Their parents were in their 40s by that time. Following the war, by the time they regained their status as citizens, my grandpas would have been about50 years old. Imagine trying to rebuild a life after the age of 50, starting from scratch all over again. Hmm... I never really thought about it that way before.
As for your childhood, double-edged sword question. I think some things your mind knew the difference, but chose to delay the knowledge until it felt you were ready. Which was worse? I would say that your mind asked the question and answered it.
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