Memories of Days Past

Family history isn’t always about your heritage, who did what, who knew who, or if you were related to Abraham Lincoln or not, family is about more than names and relatives, it’s about memories and your connections to your family. Who you keep close, and the memories you’ll keep as you grow old. For me, memories of my childhood are somewhat scarce, but those instances that I can remember vividly are typically pretty amazing moments, or just plain weird ones that stem from my awkward childhood personality, and childlike curiosity as most have experienced one way or another. At the end of the day, family is about memories and relationships, whereas family means more than who you are related to, family is those you care for, not for those who simply share your blood, its those who are close to you, and those who you share memories with, “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb” referencing how the bonds that we make with others are stronger than ones tied to simple genetics.

In Vargas’s account he emphasizes how his parents and his family cared for him, even when he himself did not understand what was going on, by sending him to live with his grandparents and America, although illegal his parents still insisted on giving him the best chance in life, even if this meant sending him away across the world, away from his parents and away from the life he had known. His family did not do this simply because he is family and its what family does, but because they cared enough about him to want to give him the best possible life for their child. Vargas’s parents simply could’ve kept him in his home country, and avoid taking risks to improve the quality of life for their child. They choose to help their child, and give him a better chance at success by giving him a life he wouldn’t/couldn’t have had at home.

Now my story is not quite as interesting or intense as Vargas’s is, although it still demonstrates family, and the unique traits, memories, and quirks families contain within themselves. Now, some backstory beforehand, my brother when we were both still quite young couldn’t pronounce the name “Jonathan” so instead, he opted to call me Jochi, pronounced “jaw-chi.” How he derived Jochi from my name is quite absurd, but thats what he called me. As one could reasonably expect, this nickname was picked up on by some of our mutual friends as well. Wheres Abriana, our good friend would often call me this name as well when we were younger, typically mockingly, but it is what it is.

Now, instead of growing out of the name as I got older, and it being forgotten with time, it became somewhat of an inside joke between us, where my brother will now call me Jochi sarcastically to get on my nerves and such, and Abriana will still call me this name as something of an homage to old fond memories of us all playing together and such. This name is one of the many memories that binds and bonds all of together, one of things that makes us family, apart from simple blood relations. Abriana shares this memory with my brother and I, along with many, many more, since we’ve practically shared the entirety of our childhoods, she is also family in my eyes, one who is always welcome.

Family is not simply who you are related to, its those you care about, and those you share fond times and memories together with, an important and often overlooked distinction. When people often say they care about their friends and family, they often forget that the two go hand in hand, whereas its not a choice, but a combined answer, good friends are family, and your family is comprised of such good friends. Family is what you make it, not what you’re born with, and thus its important to note, that family history isn’t always about your heritage, its about your memories.

Photo on Foter.com