Memories are our unique ways of holding on the things we love and things we never want to lose. We have a way o embracing our happiest of memories, but we cannot lose sight of the painful memories that have also contributed to shaping who we have become. We all have one childhood memory that stands out form the rest. When I was in fifth grade, I was given an assignment that affected me a little more than what it should have. It has been ten years, and somehow I always find myself looking back at how the experience shook me up. I was never one for leaving a project for the night before but this one left me no other choice. I was sitting by myself at the dining room table in front of a big, blank poster. I had a permanent marker as my weapon of attack against it but the poster was intimidating and, frankly, I was comfortable having it win this round. I simply did not want to draw out my family tree.
          Where do I start? Who do I include? How do I show divorce? How do I show remarriage? How do I show stepchildren? I know there have to be a few illegitimate children somewhere! How about the people I know nothing about? Who do I ask? Who would know? How am I ever going to get through this? These were only some of the millions of questions racing through my mind all in an instant. The questions kept coming at me like a series of arrows, and the arrows struck me down to the ground. I was frustrated. I found comfort in crying. I didn’t want the tears to stop flowing because they kept me distracted from the task at hand. It was at this moment that I learned the power behind absolutes – I will always have a broken family. My family was broken beyond repair. It didn’t matter how much I wished, dreamed, or even hoped because I would never have a normal family like everyone else did. I came up with all of these realizations at ten years old, and they have stuck with me ever since.
          I don’t remember what the end result of the project looked like – a lot of correction tape leftover from lines that had to be redrawn several times, I suppose. If I were to take on the task of drawing out my family tree today, I would be just as clueless as I was ten years ago. I was right about a few things – I could never hide a family history of affairs, divorces, separations, and remarriages – but I have definitely learned to take a different approach to the situation. I used to be hesitant when people would ask me about my family, but later experiences taught me new ways in which ‘family’ could be defined. My family is small, and we are barely enough to fill all of the seats at the dining room table. I have a mother who has given me all of the love and support I could ever ask for. I have an older half-brother, Kelvin (31), who is not the best of role models but will always come through when I need him to. He has a wife, Nicole, and two sons, Aubrey and Andrew, who in many ways have given us new reasons to smile. I have a younger half sister, Maria (14), who I am slowly learning to appreciate as a best friend. Her father, my stepfather, has not always been the most affectionate towards me, but has provided more than enough support in many ways.
          I would be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes wish for something a little more conventional. However, experience has taught me the power in hope and faith. I cannot change the past, but I have full control of my future. I often feel like Esperanza from Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street. I have seen so many examples of unplanned pregnancies, shotgun marriages, and overdue divorces in my family that I definitely know better than to walk into situations that will lead to those. This may seem a little too optimistic, but I do hope to fall in love one day. I want to get married with the person I am in love with, and I want to have a big wedding to celebrate. I want my marriage to be prosperous, everlasting, and – above all things – fruitful. I want to have children, all born within a few years of each other. I want to have a house with a white picket fence, and a tacky little mailbox with our family name written across the side. There are only two of us in my family that have the same last name – me and my brother Kelvin – so although we have always wanted to have something like this at home, we never could. I have learned to accept and love my family for what it is – a group of highly dysfunctional people bounded together forever by love – but I am madly in love with the idea of getting to start a new family of my own. Let the adventures begin!