On How Holidays Evolve Over the Years

Declaration of Independence (1818) - John Trumbull

I think I've realized a little something about Independence Day over the past week or so, planning for it and all. It's just not the same holiday to me that it used to be when I was a little girl. The majority of the reasons why are a mixture of personal and general. The rest may just be about having grown up a little bit over the years. It doesn't seem like anything much is exactly the same to me at 45 as it was when I was little or even just still young. 

To begin with, a lot of what made the 4th special is just plain off the table for us at this point for reasons beyond our control. With the way climate change has made wildfires such a massive issue in the summers here, the city doesn't do fireworks displays anymore. It's been decades since I actually went anywhere specifically to watch the fireworks, but sometimes I could still see them in the sky over the back fence. I didn't mind sitting outside with Seth a while when I was in the mood, trying to catch a glimpse of the pretty colors, smelling the cordite, and reminiscing about how magical the 4th of July seemed when I was a kid.

We almost always used to grill, but we don't even do that anymore -- also because of the fires. I used to love the smell of a barbecue grill, a wood-burning fireplace, or things burning in general. Now when I smell something -- anything -- burning, it no longer signals thoughts of coziness, fun, safety, and good times. It means danger. It makes me scared I'm going to have to spend the next week or two checking for evacuation alerts every two seconds and barely being able to see without the lights on because the sky is weird and orange in the middle of the day.

Meditations on Family and Other Conundra

Loss of Identity - Daniella Krtsch

A little while back, someone contacted me through 23andMe's relatives' network wanting to connect. According to the site's records, we are second cousins, which I've since learned means you have a set of great-grandparents in common. He really wanted to figure out how we might share such a close relationship and was hoping I could shed some light on the situation. At first, I wasn't sure I could help him, as I know so very little about my own family. But after wracking my brain a little, I realized that I probably did have a few useful tidbits to share, so I did that. 

To make a long story short, each of us had a biological grandfather whom we never knew, and we eventually figured out that they would have been brothers. My "new" cousin had really been wanting to learn more about the portion of his family he'd never met or gotten to know, and I feel good about having been able to help. Thinking about the concept of family is always a bizarre, somewhat uncomfortable activity for me, though, and I've been doing more of that than usual these past few days. My brain feels weird as a result.

At this point, I'm just used to answering casual questions people ask me about my origins by mentioning all the estrangement and leaving it at that. "No, I'm not that close with my parents." "No, I don't see my siblings. We're estranged." "No, I don't visit extended family for the holidays. I didn't grow up in a close-knit environment and don't know most of my relatives." And so forth. I don't worry as much about how that reflects on me as I used to when I was younger, but it still feels strange to get to know a new person and have to repeat that stuff all over again. 

Most of my family members seem disturbingly normal -- or at least they do on the outside. They look normal, they have normal jobs, and they seem like well-adjusted citizens for the most part. And then there is me -- Miss Eccentric Recluse Writer 2021. Compared to the rest of my family, I look and seem like the kind of person who was probably left on someone's doorstep in a basket by aliens who were just passing through. I'm also the relative on the outskirts who doesn't really vibe with everyone else, making it seem like my oddness must be the reason. But really, I'm just more comfortable with my eccentricity and wear it right out there on my sleeve.

On Royal Weddings, Birds, and Shifting Social Tides

Last Friday, Seth and I stayed up late to watch CNN's live footage of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle getting married. I'm so very glad we did. I've casually followed the lives of the British royals since I first saw Diana and Charles get married as a little girl, so naturally I was interested in seeing their boys get married too. I watched them be born and grow up, after all, so -- like many people -- I guess I feel like I know them a little bit. Plus, Seth and I already watched the live footage of Prince William and Kate Middleton getting married years ago and had a wonderful time.

Harry has always been my favorite of the two princes though, so I was especially interested in seeing him sort of find someone eventually and settle down. Imagine how thrilled I was when he chose someone not only smart and poised, but biracial as well. Being biracial myself, that really means something to me. I was born in the 70's, so I very definitely grew up with the message that girls like me don't get to be princesses. We certainly were never considered pretty, or desirable, or noteworthy, so it's been quietly blowing my mind a little bit that I can actually recognize myself in the face of one of the British royals -- something I really didn't think would ever happen. Yes, there are still plenty of bigots out there that think we mixed girls (Meghan Markle included) ain't shit, but they can't change the fact that this is just huge.

At any rate, watching that wedding was just what I needed, so haters be damned. Some people really seem to get something out of feeling miserable all the time and focusing on everything that's wrong with the world we live in, but I don't. As melancholy and depressed as I can get from time to time, I always choose happiness, and cheer, and optimism as often as it makes sense to, so it was really nice to spend an entire evening thinking about gorgeous white flowers, and crazy English church hats, and a beautiful mixed girl marrying the best prince for a change. 

On 23andMe the Strangeness of Genes

As I mentioned in a previous post, I did finally get around to doing that whole 23andMe DNA test thingamajig this summer after probably a good year of hemming and hawing about it. It's been a few weeks since I first got my results, but I've been truly fascinated by some of the things I found out, especially in regards to the ancestry side of things. 

Suffice it to say that my mixed race heritage has always defined quite a bit about my physical and biological identity whether I wanted it to or not. When I was a kid, I was a shy wallflower type that just wanted to fit in, so I used to hate being mixed because of the constant questions I always got about my ethnicity and heritage. As an adult though, I've come to realize that being different or unique isn't so bad, so I've learned to embrace it for what it is. I've even become quite curious about the bare-bones, honest details of who and what I am from a cultural heritage standpoint.

Lots of people grew up in households where cultural identity and heritage were really, seriously important things. That wasn't the case with my immediate family when I was growing up at all. I knew my dad was black and that my mom was probably mostly of Irish heritage, but that's about it. Neither of my parents seemed to consider those aspects of who they were to be terribly important. My brother and I were certainly never encouraged to really identify with anything about where we came from ethnically speaking, especially in regards to our black side. 

Moving on to Other Things

Tippi Hedren - Publicity Still for The Birds

It's strange. Whenever I do a thing, I always try to make it as easy as possible for people to find out more about me or get to know me better if they're so inclined. However, it never fails to surprise me if people actually decide they want to do that. I was just as surprised (but pleased) to learn this blog has been seeing a modest amount of traffic from the TCM forums and occasionally from Twitter over the past few weeks, especially lately. (I don't actually market my personal writings here or anything, so I don't see many passers-through as a rule.)

I suppose that can only mean people appreciate my thoughts and insights on some of the films I've been studying with my fellow Hitchcock students enough to come see what else I'm about. A couple of folks have even gone out of their way to chat with me or at least say hello. I'm used to being seen as smart, but I don't know that I'm always seen as interesting, so that's been nice. It's also been really refreshing for me to interact with new people that actually think for a change. I've probably shared more original thoughts and insights with others over the past month than I have in the past... I don't know... five years? I hope I'm able to keep some of that optimism and good energy going, because that's something I need to be doing if I'm as serious about my writing as I always tell people I am.

Tonight is going to be the last Hitchcock viewing party and the course on the whole only lasts through next week. I will truly miss the lessons, the instructor, my classmates, and all the daily discussions. This has given me so much to think about, and do, and discuss as far as my free time goes. My mind is happiest when it's busy like that, so I'll have to think about how best I can fill that void and keep going with some of these positive thought patterns. I suppose there are always more classes to look into, not to mention aaaaaaall those personal creative projects I never quite seem to get around to working on, let alone sharing. I thought maybe age and a growing sense of disenchantment with the world and with the rest of humanity had destroyed my passion for thinking and sharing my thoughts, so mostly I'm just really relieved to know that part of me is alive and well.

On Diversity in the Media

Here's the thing. I actually don't like it when television shows and movies are "diverse", but it feels forced. I don't like it when black/gay/female/etc characters are just thrown into the mix as tokens just for the sake of being able to say "fuck yeah diversity". I very definitely feel like there's a wrong way to approach diversity and I see things being done the wrong way a lot.

But I do not understand people that actually go out of their way to complain about diversity as a concept when it comes to the media they consume. I also can't help but notice that the complainers are always people that have no earthly idea what it's like to grow up almost never seeing people that looked or acted like them when they went to the movies or turned on their television.

I know what that's like and it's really not fun. It really does give you the impression that you're an undesirable of one type or another. Or that there's something wrong with you. Or that society would really like it if you just disappeared or tried your best to hide/deny/erase anything about yourself that makes you different. The characters people rooted for in movies and on television were very, very rarely anything like me. When they were there at all, people like me were almost always the sidekicks, or the comic relief, or -- God forbid -- the villain.

On Mixed Racial Identity and Blogging

Like many female bloggers, I write a lot about what it means to be a woman. But unlike most of the minority bloggers I know, I don't really talk much about race. I'm not completely sure why that is, but I'm sure there are a couple of reasons.

On the one hand, I just don't think about my ethnic background that often and if I'm not thinking about something, I'm not writing about it either. I'm clearly not white, but I'm also a biracial woman that doesn't fit the average non-black person's mental picture of what a black woman looks like or acts like. Because of this, I tend to go through my life without having to think much about my race, just like white people do.

I don't look so different from Seth that people stop and stare at us when we walk down the street or wonder how on earth we even wound up together. I more or less measure up to the going American standard of what female beauty is "supposed" to be -- long hair that flows, light skin, and refined, stereotypically feminine facial features. There are apparently even people out there that miss the fact that I'm black altogether, as they express complete surprise when I tell them or if they find out some other way, as when my ex-husband met my parents for the first time.

In a manner of speaking, I'm probably lucky because I get to sidestep a lot of the problems and discrimination that my darker friends have to deal with. On the other hand, not having to create my life around my ethnicity has meant that I haven't developed the same strong racial identity most of my black friends have. I think about being a woman every day. I think about being a writer every day. I think about being an introvert every day. I rarely to never think about being black. Only when something or someone calls my attention to it, which really isn't all that often.