My family is much like other families. Sometimes we’re pretty close (like during a crisis) and sometimes not (like during a crisis). We’re a family, not a textbook or a sitcom script.
February is “Family Support Awareness Month” according to Prevent Child Abuse North Carolina. Here’s how “family support” has manifested itself in my own experience.
When I was a junior in high school, my parents and my brother moved from Connecticut to Illinois, where my father was employed with the Society of Actuaries. I remained in Connecticut for my all-important senior year of high school, living with one of my dear friends and her wonderful family.
My father’s new job was a good one – he was executive director – but it wasn’t good enough (nor would any job be so) to save my parents’ marriage. That year was difficult for me. It was really awful for my younger brother.
When it all broke apart (at the time of my graduation), I had traveled to Chicago to help my mother with the last details and moving back to Connecticut. My older brother had a crisis of his own and I felt like the water was just lapping up at my chin. It seemed that the slightest wave might take all of us under.
I talked to my uncle (my father’s brother, who lived in Massachusetts) on the phone. I should point out that in 1976, that meant spending money. He asked me, “What can I do?” My exasperated answer was, “Well if you could come out here, that would be great.”
That, it turned out, was exactly what he had in mind. He did come out. He did not bring a magic wand. My parents were still breaking up. My mother was still crying a lot. My brother was still a mess.
My uncle is my father’s younger, but larger brother. All 6’4” of him was called into duty. He took our emotional burden onto his shoulders and just carried us for a little while, like my dad did when I was tired of walking at the World’s Fair. With a respite and recovered muscles, we got through it.
This is what family support does. It doesn’t fix everything. It provides structural reinforcement to make a family stronger. Sometimes I still can’t believe it, but the next year (1977) I met and got engaged to my husband. I was 18 years old. Both of my parents, despite their differences, agreed on this one thing- that I should not get married.
It’s fair to say they were both “gun shy” and wished to spare me the heartache of a failed marriage early in life. My husband’s parents felt much the same way, but he was 28 so the “early in life” thing was a bit less on point. At one point, my mother literally took Rick out back at her house and ever-so-gently gave him the classic if-you-hurt-her-I-will-hurt-you speech.
After work on a Wednesday in January of 1978 (on the day our engagement was announced in The Hartford Courant) we took our freshly minted marriage license and went down the street to a Justice of the Peace and got married. It took about five minutes. Then we went to my mother’s nearby house with coffee and doughnuts to celebrate.
My mother (who was on the phone with her cousin discussing the engagement) spotted Rick’s wedding ring from across the room. “They’re married!!” she shrieked.
From that moment on, both families, despite their reservations, did nothing but support and encourage our marriage and subsequently, our family. Once you’re married, said my mother-in-law, you’re all in.
Sometimes, that support is just the fine art of showing up, doing some laundry, taking the grandkids for an hour or a day, reading a book, going for a walk. It all counts. It all matters.
So, too, does it matter to say “thank you.” So, thank you, Uncle Chris. I’m pretty sure you saved my life.
Jean Bolduc is a freelance writer and the host of the Weekend Watercooler on 97.9 The Hill. She is the author of “African Americans of Durham & Orange Counties: An Oral History” (History Press, 2016) and has served on Orange County’s Human Relations Commission, The Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina, the Orange County Housing Authority Board of Commissioners, and the Orange County Schools’ Equity Task Force. She was a featured columnist and reporter for the Chapel Hill Herald and the News & Observer.
Readers can reach Jean via email – jean@penandinc.com and via Twitter @JeanBolduc
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