Today, the only thing that kept me from crying was remembering that I wasn't wearing waterproof mascara. I sat in my little gold Saturn, watching the rain sprinkle the windshield and willing the light to change to green so I could just go home already. Then my very own mascara vs. tears situation gave me an epiphany regarding two dueling parts that make up my whole; two dueling parts that have been at war in me from childhood.
My mom's family is very Irish, and therefore characterized by something very Irish: emotion. Tears are commonplace at family gatherings. In fact, it has become a bit of a game for my cousins and myself-- when we gather for prayer, if my grandpa or any of his four children do the actual praying, there will be a throat catch, and inevitably... wait for it... a few tears. And that's when we peek from our prayer and give each other knowing, mirth-filled looks. We knew it. Hugs and kisses abound, tears flow, and they like it that way.
My dad's family is very German, and therefore characterized by something very German: stoicism. Tears are non-existent at family gatherings. In fact, I have not once seen my father or my aunts cry... unless of course from laughter, in which case I have seen it more than a few times. When one of us falls down, no one comes running with compassion and a band-aid... instead they double over in fits of giggles. Emotions aren't discussed, touchy issues remain untouched, and they like it that way.
There are no words to express the amount of love I have for each side of my family, equally. And while each side is loving, odd, hilarious, and entirely entertaining, I have suddenly realized that it has created a bit of battleground in me. My Irish side tells me to let out my emotions-- cry, laugh, shout, fume, rant, dance... my first instinct is always to follow these emotions in that characteristically passionate way Irish poets pour out their hearts and souls into ballads and sonnets, the way Irish musicians throw their emotions full force into a jig or reel, and the way Irish women throw dishes at their offending husbands in anger.
But then my German side takes over, saying, nicht! Schreien Sie nicht! I must not cry. My will and pride to never be seen as weak become stronger than the emotion, I suck it up, and that's that. Picture me: jaw set, head high, clear throat, step forward. Practical, right? Just as I said-- I wanted to cry, but wait! I wasn't wearing waterproof mascara, so that's that. Irish emotion vs. German pragmatism.
Culture composes so much of what makes me... me. Not just what I have grown up around and the people who have surrounded me, but my genetic makeup. My link to my ancestors is my Irish emotion and my German stoicism. What makes you... you? What cultural battles rage within you? What links you to your ancestors?
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