I was driving my younger daughter, Mollie, somewhere the other day, and I glanced over at her, and it suddenly hit me… I only know two people on this whole planet that I am actually related to by blood.
The thing is… and this isn’t really a bad thing… it is an awesome thing… but I am adopted. I have an awesome family, and there are hundreds of us out there. I wouldn’t change a thing about my family. But when you get right down to the genetics of it, I am a member of this family by law, not blood.
That isn’t a bad thing. But it is a little weird to know that there is another entire family of people out there that share the same blood as me, and I don’t know any of them.
I wonder if anybody in that other family is as strange as I am. Do they write music, play instruments, do any kind of art? Are we all tall, or am I unusual in that way? I mean, obviously we must be an attractive family… just look at me, for gosh sakes… but man… we might be the biggest bunch of freaks there ever were.
And it makes me a little sad to know that my daughters might have grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins floating around out there that might never meet. And it makes me wonder if maybe I… or my daughters… might look like some of those people we will never know.
It is also possible that family has completely died out… that we are the last members to survive. That is a little disconcerting. But it gives me a whole new reason to cherish my oh-so-beautiful girls.