I have a special perspective on the phrase: “Blood is thicker than water,” a saying who’s origins can be traced all the way back to 12th century Germany, because although I did and do have blood relatives out there, most of them I have not seen since 1996 after my mother’s death.
Going into the why of the last part of the above paragraph would take tons of time, effort, and words, as well as meaning giving the readers of this column insight into personal spaces better left untouched or at least better off talked about at another place and time.
Due to the above, I was always prone to say that you could have ‘family’ outside of your blood and although at first it may seem at odds with Scott’s statement I maintain that both are true.
You can have people in your life that are as close as blood relatives to you, more so if as said your past leads you to search outside your bloodline for closeness and a sense of belonging.
I’ve also found that the reverse can be true at certain moments and that blood can indeed be thicker than water and no matter how close you feel to someone you may never be as close as their sister or mother.
This can cause complications because as tight as this ‘family’ can feel you might find there are certain subject matters and boundaries that you are forbidden to cross.
Mostly I’ve found these to be matters of health or the heart, and I’d add politics and religion to that list but conversations on those subjects can break any relationship, no matter how thick the blood might be.
Coming from that angle, the phrase seems to hold true, but this is only because in my humble opinion that is how society has programmed us to think that certain subjects are better off being ‘kept in the family.’
For example, I know a lovely woman in Oregon who was adopted and is ten times closer to her adopted parents than her real ones.
In her case, it is a matter of familiarity and who did what for whom, in other words if you act like mom, look like mom, and talk like mom…you are indeed mom.
Similarly, my ex’s son once told me that he knew I was not his real father but he at the time still looked at me as being his dad.
These questions have been rattling in my mind as I have temporarily (or longer) as noted in last month’s column become a caretaker of sorts and it was for one of my best friends elderly father and an exchange between me and the son had me ruminating on that old phrase.
Personally for me at times it all leads to brief moments of being sad, knowing that I’ll never be as connected to a group as others are to their family and when it comes to things such as holidays not always having a place to be.
On the other hand, it means that I don’t deal with some of the massive headaches I see come from that closeness as well.
Perhaps the secret is in the mixing and the mixture and maybe the dynamic can change if you stir really hard…as long as you don’t mind the sore wrists.
