If They Weren’t The Cleavers

If They Weren’t the Cleavers

MOTHER’S DAY. Father’s Day. Birthdays. These special dates on the calendar cause me to reflect on my parents—both what was and what could have been.

I came from a totally “normal” family—one where there were huge issues, dark secrets, major imperfections, even addictions. I say this is normal because the more I visit with folks the more I realize that the “abnormal” family is the one where everyone gets along well, has a healthy emotional bond, and is quick to forgive one another’s faults and shortcomings. If you hail from such a family, I really hope you consider yourself blessed. If you grew up in a “normal” family like mine, well, girlfriend, this series is for you!

My father had just turned fifty-five when I was birthed by his twenty-nine-year-old wife. Needless to say, this was before the young trophy wife arrangement became fashionable. Dad had three daughters by a previous marriage—all within a few years of my mom’s age—and nine grandchildren. Mom had been married once before, too, and had an eight-year-old son when I came along. Thus, we were a “blended” family, although back then there was no catchy marketing phrase designed to make us all feel better about our unique state. No, my family was different, and I quickly realized this as I was the only child in my first-grade class who had a half brother and half sisters; I wondered for years, Where’s the rest of them? When do they get to be whole like me?

Many of us must deal with a history of hurt, confusion, rejection, and sometimes abuse caused by our families. But we don’t have to be held hostage to them. In Women Who Think Too Much, Susan Nolen-Hoeksema says, “A critical part of growing into a mature, fulfilled adult is to acknowledge our past and the foibles of our families, and to decide what aspects of our heritage we wish to reject and what aspects we wish to embrace.”^a

I love this! We get to choose to reject or accept what we will remember, take forth, and use in the development of our adult selves.

I waited patiently for the LORD to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire.He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along.He has given me a new song to sing, a hymn of praise to our God.Many will see what he has done and be amazed. They will put their trust in the LORD. (Psalm 40:1-3)

I think it’s a good idea to explore our “normal” families so we can choose what we will embrace from our past. It could be the difference between joy and pain as those special dates roll around—again and again and again.

^a Susan Nolen-Hoeksema, Women Who Think Too Much (New York: Henry Holt, 2003), 153.