Edition #118: A Lineage of Kindness
Plus, when the best deal is what you give away, replacing unhelpful coping strategies, and the perfect ham sandwich at 30,000 feet
A Note From the Editor
A former partner of mine knew everything about his family’s history from generations back. His great, great-grandparents left Lebanon and moved to America with nothing, eventually opening a button store—the sort of story so quaint and improbable that it could only have come out of a different lifetime. The grandfather was a quiet man who married a stubborn woman, a woman determined to get a job of her own despite the gendered limitations of the workforce back then.
I delighted in these stories; a captive audience always wanting more detail, but they also made me a little sad, for the recountings reminded me how little I knew of my own family history. I’d only ever known one of my grandparents, the rest long gone by the time I was a toddler. Stories of generations passed were not retold by my parents. I suppose I didn’t ask a ton of questions—information that isn’t offered, presumptively, is information that the teller does not feel inclined to share. Still, I wondered.
My knowledge of my lineage is narrow but deep. I know, for example, that I come from a long line of matriarchial givers, women for whom generosity is inherent. My mother recently told me a story about her mother, who was the human equivalent of a plush teddy bear—soft and sweet and safe, never a bad word to say about anyone. One year, my mother and her siblings pooled their money to buy their father a black leather recliner for his birthday, which took up a prime living room spot in the tiny, two-bedroom house they all shared. He loved the chair and sat on it every day. A month later, the kids got home from school and the recliner was gone. They were baffled, for it was a massive chair, not easy to maneuver. Could someone have broken into the house and stole it?
As it turns out, the recliner was not stolen but willfully forfeited by my grandmother, who had met a homeless couple earlier that day. She got to talking to them and discovered they had nothing—no money, no possessions, and no home. My grandmother also had no money, but she did have a brand new black leather recliner, and did they want it? I picture this scene often: my small, stout, white-haired grandmother in her floral moo moo and two homeless people, all crammed in that living room as the afternoon sun streamed through the windows, lifting a brand new recliner out of the front door, down the brick steps, and to god knows where. Her children were furious when they got home, especially her eldest daughter. “Why did you give it away? We got that for daddy,” her daughter said. My grandmother’s reply was simple, matter of fact. “They needed it more than we did.”
My mother is the same way. She’ll meet you once and send you a card on your birthday, a card when your cat dies, a card when you’re having a bad day. I’ve got a shoebox full of old cards from her and I often read their reassuring messages (things will get better, keep your head up, this is only a season), unable to recall what sadness plagued me at the time, but always grateful to know that she was willing to cup my pain in her palms. Along with kindness, the other commonality between my grandmother and my mother is that they both birthed seven children. Seven, one after the other, over the span of many years. Neither of them had anywhere near an acceptable amount of money to bring that many lives into the world, to feed that many mouths, and yet everyone survived. We all found our way; my mother and her siblings first, me and mine later.
We are all so different, my siblings and I, and yet our common thread became clear to me when I made the connection between my mother and my grandmother: we all possess a certain kindness, one I like to think was inherited from our bloodline. To say these people are an integral part of me feels inadequate—they raised me, kept me in line, made me tough, held cool washcloths to my head to break the fever when there was no medicine, found ways to fill my belly when there was no food. They influenced my taste in music and in clothes, they cried with me and laughed with me, pulled me out of deep, dark holes, pushed me to places I wouldn’t have had the stamina to reach otherwise.
As the world has shifted in recent years, making my footing feel more tenuous—I’ve entered and exited relationships, careers, moved here and there, felt myself floating aimlessly out to sea—the thought of them, my dear siblings, has been my truest tether. But I have them, I would think when I felt alone, when everything felt pointless and I was lost, and I’ll always have them. Simply the knowledge that they exist, that they are in me, is what has carried me home time and time again.
_____
The camp counselor, the eldest brother who managed to make any situation into a game, who ignited the competitive spirit that would permeate our little tribe. A curious mind that refuses to color within the lines; always questioning, hypothesizing, taking alternative routes in attempts to make sense of the world. An at-home chef who can transform the simplest ingredients into a Michelin-worthy meal, morphing his small Florida kitchen into a portal to far-flung corners of the globe.
The do-er, the eldest sister whose chipped shoulder propelled her far beyond the scope of what I thought people like us could do; moving across the country, then across the border, then across the Atlantic, learning a second language, supporting herself, partying at the Playboy Mansion, seeing the world, sacrificing her paychecks so that I could take dance classes for free, expanding my little world tenfold with Saturday sushi dates, sleepovers where we’d eat Chubby Hubby straight from the pint and watch Charlie’s Angels. Years later, showing me Europe for the first time, showing me what was possible.
The caretaker, always putting the needs of our family before her own, mending and re-mending what continued to break, taking on responsibilities far beyond the scope of her years with a brave face, making us younger ones feel safe and cared for. The sister whose love for reading inspired my own, who showed me that it was possible to make a living as a writer, whose words created worlds I would gladly escape to, given the opportunity. The one who endured impossibly heartache only to emerge like a phoenix, graceful and stronger than before.
The lover, whose light, jovial presence could unintentionally neutralize the tensest of situations, whose ribs are tattooed with the initials of the other six of us. The epitome of a big brother; always teasing me, always making up games to entertain me. Long, hot afternoons spent training in the makeshift garage gym after we’d watched all six of the Rocky movies—Rocky IV being the best. I had to be prepared for the big fight, he said. Taking me in when I decided to attend the same college he had, transitioning from big brother to true friend.
The guardian angel, who took everyone by surprise when she didn’t come out screaming like her twin brother but instead was silent; different. A beam of light in a darkened room, the only person in the family who knows exactly how to make everyone smile, who doesn’t know how to hold a grudge, whose untarnished soul has been the superglue that held us together through the most horrible years. The sweet girl who calls me Ding, who calls all of us girls Best Sister, whose smile is imprinted at the base of my heart.
The maverick, who can make an entire room of people from all over the world laugh with his quick, quirky wit, who has been my sidekick since I was stumbling home at all hours of the night in high school. More emotionally in tune than the men in our family were ever given clearance to be with an impeccable aptitude for forgiveness; always willing to help. A shoulder I’ve cried on many nights and who has cried on mine but also, a friend I’ve laughed so hard with that I never thought I’d be able to breathe again.
_____
Cheers, my dears, and as always, thanks for reading. Might I suggest you call your sibling(s) today and make it known how much they mean to you, or thank them for what they’ve done for you? Or, share today’s edition with them to let them know you’re thinking of them.
And, if you’d like to support the continuation of this newsletter, please consider opting for a paid subscription. Paid subscribers buy me the time needed to write, research, and edit this newsletter each week. Your support goes a long way.
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
The Perfect Ham Sandwich At 30,000 Feet. This article brought me so much unexpected pleasure and it is a life hack I’m going to start using when I travel. I love the concept of a preflight food ritual, which is much smarter than waiting until you get to the airport to purchase an overpriced, underwhelming sandwich, or scarfing down subpar lounge food. If I had a New York City preflight airport dining ritual, it would be getting a fat bagel with lox, tomato, red onion, and capers or a big, meaty Italian sub with hot peppers from a bodega with a bag of kettle cooked plain potato chips and a mini cannoli for dessert.
When the Best Deal is What You Give Away. I’ve shared this one in the past, but today's intro brought this sweet, simple essay back to the forefront of my mind and it is one worth sharing again. A meditation on what it takes to be a “good” negotiator and what we gain when we give something away.
On New York. There are certain writers who I feel a deep, soul connection with, and Fariha Rosin is one of them. She always seems to publish precisely what I need to hear, or what I've been thinking about but unable to articulate, at the exact times such thoughts are traveling through my synapses. Sometimes I read her writing and my toes clench, for my conscious mind wasn't ready to process the things she so eloquently explores, and that was the case for this essay. Anyone who has any relationship with New York will be emboldened by this piece one way or the other. New Yorkers consider themselves separate from America at large, especially from the post-Roe, pro-gun, ultra-conservative America that seems to be taking shape. Fariha spins that notion on its head, suggesting New York might just be the crown jewel of those less-virtuous American values that are centered around capitalism, greed, and exclusion.
Perhaps You Should… Identify + Replace Unhelpful Coping Strategies
I found this exercise to be fascinating and helpful. There are various ways to cope with life’s stressors, some of which are useful and healthy, while others offer short-term relief but are actually counterproductive (these are called maladaptive coping strategies). This exercise guides you in identifying your maladaptive coping strategies so that you can replace them with adaptive ones. The coolest part about this was learning about the six major maladaptive coping strategies and identifying which one I practice—social isolation, baby!
**Bonus Content** (Movie Dialogue No One Has Said IRL)
As a writer who is transitioning to the screen format, there are many times when I watch a movie or TV show and cringe at the blatant exposition being pumped out in a character’s dialogue (“I know you’ve been sad ever since your mom died of cancer six years ago”). Needless to say, this made me laugh.
Also, the temptation is real, this photo (+ the caption), this song, this made me laugh for five straight minutes.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“In Simon’s voice, he heard the siren song of family—how it pulls you despite all sense; how it forces you to discard your convictions, your righteous selfhood, in favor of profound dependence.”
-The Immortalist by Chloe Benjamin
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.
I know that I'm your Aunt but you are AMAZING! What a beautiful and heartfelt article about your siblings, mother, and grandmother. They are and were truly beautiful inside and out.