By JoEllen Collins
I can well imagine the predicament of writers facing deadlines. This problem usually boils down to the choice of subject matter. In my case, I am afraid this is either a fear of lacking anything interesting to say, or that suddenly several topics arise at once in a barrage of potentially noteworthy experiences. As I write this from Oklahoma City, I can’t resist an account of my evening here with family, because I have seldom laughed as consistently and felt so much a part of a gathering as I experienced last night in my “new” niece’s home.
I have already introduced to readers and friends my unexpected and positive experience of finding the family of my birth mother just three-and-a-half years ago. Since the first phone call from my then-discovered half-brother Bob, I knew I was blessed beyond imagination. He phoned me, introduced himself, and said, “Welcome to the family.”
Indeed, I have experienced an acceptance and blessed set of relationships in the later stage of my life and at a time when most of the wonderful family who adopted me are gone. I count myself lucky to gather with new family and friends like this.
I was included in a hilarious “white elephant” party last night given by my sister-in-law’s family. The wrapped and unlabeled white elephant I chose (completely randomly) was a glass coffee mug with the inscription “Old People Matter.” I responded with a joke about inviting me because I’d make everyone else feel young! I relished an evening of hugs and laughter and utter joy.
Just my kind of group! I felt like I did in the bright Swedish Christmases of my youth. I belonged.
Recently, someone pointed out that my new brother Bob is my HALF brother and that the label I use of “brother” is inaccurate. I don’t agree. I spent almost all of my life with my adoptive family without any blood connection, never thinking of myself as less than a full, legitimate member of the Gifford and Johanson families. I understand that I could have grown up with blood relatives who didn’t accept me for many reasons. Fortunately, both of my families would likely have provided the comfort, joy, and laughter that I crave. When I was in high school, my dates would often hang around when meeting and laughing with my father, who had a silly way of making people happy. Although I wasn’t born with his DNA, laughter infused my love for my parents. My sister-in-law has an infectious and ever-present laugh. I share with her and my brother an appreciation of the happiness evident in my Oklahoma family, and believe that indeed some of my love of life through laughter is in my DNA.
There is a new yoga practice a friend of mine attended through a class called “Laughing Yoga.” There, the expectation is that sharing rounds of laughter is another kind of therapy, a release of the joy that we all are able to access. Sounds good to me.