“Love is something if you give it away … you end up having more.”
One of my favorite books as a kid was “The Family Nobody Wanted.” It was about a man and a woman who adopted 12 children, all of them considered “unadoptable” or at the very least, difficult, either because of a disability or because they were of “mixed race,” which, back then, was much more unusual than it is today.
I imagined my future husband-to-be, wondered what he would look like, and made a pact with myself that I would have to choose someone with a similar mindset. Isn’t it funny how quickly time flies, and your dreams about a far off time not only become your present, but then quickly fade into the rearview mirror as memories?
Bill and I actually used to talk about adopting children — not the 12 centerpieces of my childhood reading — but at least one mixed race child who would fit right in with our family. But after Katie, Molly, and then, five years later, Will, we ran out of time, money, and energy. I did do some research and it costs a lot of money to adopt a child, whether from here in the United States or from abroad. Throw in a couple of careers, tuition payments, orthodontia, etcetera, and we decided that our hands were full enough with the three we had brought into the world.
Nonetheless, it is still my desire to pull in friends from all over the world, and welcome them into the warmth of our family life. Especially now, during this holiday season, I am grateful to be able to open our doors to people who enrich our lives and give us more in return.
Virginie came home with Molly from France last week. Twenty years ago, when I was a full-time reporter with WNYC in New York, she lived with us as our au pair. She bridged our move from California to Long Island, providing continuity of care for a very young Katie and Molly as they adjusted to a new home, new school, and new friends on the east coast. Her trip home during the great blizzard of 1996 turned into a multi-day adventure, as Bill took her to JFK in a whirling snowstorm, then had to turn around and go back to get her since they had canceled her flight. She finally flew back to France a couple of days later when the weather cleared.
We lost track of her for years. And then, one of her holiday notes finally caught up to us, and we rekindled our friendship. When Molly and I saw her again two summers ago in the south of France, she was living in a small medieval town. She had never married, and though she had a warm maternal touch, she had never had children of her own.
We invited her to visit us and after 20 long years of living away from the United States, she is here for the holidays. I can tell that she’s experiencing some culture shock — her English is not what it used to be, but she’s trying. She had once trained to be a travel agent, but the industry has changed so much in 20 years and she hasn’t kept up with the times, so finding a job in her line of work is impossible.
What she would like most for Christmas this year is a new job and a family. I can’t help her much with the first, but we can be the family she wishes she had — a sister and brother in me and Bill, and her own children in ours.
For my parents — and all the aging parents of my baby boomer friends — I wish physical comfort and relief from the pains of old age. I wish the ease of mind that comes with knowing that your loved ones are safe and happy. No matter whether you are 85 or 55 or 35, as a parent you are still only as happy as your unhappiest child.
I want my parents to know they’ve been the best parents they knew how to be. They followed the Korean model of unselfish devotion, to the point where I often felt guilty about everything they did without so they could make me into a better human being: how they gave me the gifts of piano and violin lessons and ballet classes, even as they scrimped and saved every last penny to send the three of us children to the colleges of our choice.
Korean parents do see their children as a reflection of themselves; the identities are so tied together that a child’s successes are viewed as their own, and that means their failures are, too. There’s a heavy burden that comes with knowing that your parents are living their lives vicariously through yours.
For my children — and all the children of the world — I wish I could free you from the chains of fear and hatred caused by political and religious strife. We go into 2016 knowing that ISIS and other extremist groups want to inflict pain, and I am afraid.
We also go into 2016 knowing that we will be choosing our next president, who will inherit a huge international mess on top of the increased racial strife and social discontent that continues to roil us as a nation.
Today, more than ever, may we truly strive to achieve peace on earth and good will toward men or we will all be lost.
Happy holidays to all of you and yours; may you get everything you wish for (and deserve!)
“Love’s just like a magic penny.
Hold it tight and you won’t have any.
Lend it, spend it and you’ll have so many.
They’ll fall all over the floor!”
