While I would never claim to know what it feels like to be the child of divorced parents, the concept is not new to me.
From the time I could speak, I could expertly and confidently explain the structure of my "blended" family to those who just needed to know. "So she's your half-sister then?" they'd ask. To which I'd respond, "Well, yeah, technically, but it's not like that. She's just my sister."
Most of my childhood friends came from "untraditional" families. In fact, a nuclear family was the exception to the rule. And if my friends weren't being raised by grandparents, a single parent, a remarried parent, a separated parent with a new live-in partner or otherwise, then there were undoubtedly other factors that made their families unique: recently immigrated, lived in the projects, English language learners, too many kids to count, foster children. The point being, I was raised around diversity of all kinds and therefore never had cause to feel embarrassed or insecure about my own family's "deviation" from the [perceived and politically popular] norm. I was blessed to never live in a community where my differences made me feel isolated. Plus, I had rockin' parents who wouldn't have ever let me believe that Malibu Barbie must be married to a white Ken and therefore made me buy the black Ken as Barbie's "life partner" and the black baby as their out-of-wedlock love child.
I didn't even think to be embarrassed or insecure until I went to college and almost all of my friends were from nuclear (and white generally) families. But, then we were in college. I was an intellectual and when insecurities about my family structure that I didn't know existed bubbled to the surface, I could intellectualize them. Or get defensive. Against no one in particular, but against the society that would try to put my family in a box. But, eff them, right? I don't care what they think.
And now I find my insecurities bubbling again. While my husband's family is kind, loving and a mixed family born of transnational adoption itself, I want he and them to love me so much that I worry what they think. "You're mom was married three times?! AND she's a pastor?!" Well, yes, but third times a charm right? And she's a very wise woman. And no I wasn't a confused child. And yes my sister and brother are my real sister and brother. And their children are my real nieces. And my father considers them to be his real grandchildren. These are questions I've answered throughout my life, but never thought to be insecure about. I don't believe my husband and his family judge me, but I worry.
Especially now that I'm starting (or continuing depending on how you look at it) my family. I'm flooded with worries and insecurities about how I'll raise my child and who will judge me. I had a wonderful childhood surrounded by siblings with a mutual dependence, diversity, raised by extended family, calling every adult Auntie or Uncle, a working/going to school mother, a father who french-braided and cooks better Filipino food than my mom, a house that's perpetually messy with dishes to be done, pet rats, spontaneity and unflinching loyalty. And it all seemed normal and wonderful to me until I had to blend with someone else's norms that sometimes feel foreign. (I'm sure beadle feels similarly about my family). My family's unconventional "deviation" from the norm has made my family and me who I am. I don't want a normal family.
My mom (the older and more senile she gets) will insure that my family will never be normal. I will too. I just need to be okay with that. And I hope that my husband and his family will be too as we combine our family's culture and norms to create a wonderfully abnormal family all our own.