There’s a weird little irony in my family. My Dadd is a talented, self trained musician. The only instrument that I can play is the radio. My Dadd’s brother, Tim, was and still is an athlete. As a matter of fact, at one point, Tim was an assistant football coach for the Warroad Warriors way back when. We all love to hunt and fish until the sun won’t shine but the sports connection is actually only there between Tim and me. No sports connection with me and my old man, I assure you.
Another odd little family quirk pops up from time to time. It seems folks tend to think that Tim and I more closely resemble each other. I guess our shared athletic interests probably add to the actual physical resemblance that people pick up on. Actually, when someone chirps about us Kirby boys looking alike, we all get a nice chuckle.
Tom and Tim are brothers. No doubt. Same mother. Same Father. There’s a resemblance.
Tim’s son, Aaron, looks as if pictures of Tim have come back to life. They’re spitting images of each other, only one has aged like fine wine and moldy cheese.
Me and my Dadd...yeah, not so much. But there’s a reason.
So the story goes...
In 1974, a beautiful young Raggedy Ann met an older man at a Halloween party. 9 months later a son was born. Now, I was too young to know for myself but it seems that in the mid 70’s people married in spite of unplanned pregnancies. Although they weren’t in love, the did have a son together and so Raggedy Ann married the man 15+ years her senior. Born in Illinois, I understand that by my first birthday I could also boast temporary residency in both California and Virginia as well. Migrant workers we were not. As a matter of fact, I’ve been told that using the word “work” and “the older man” in the same sentence isn’t something that people routinely did. Seems this young family struggled to make ends meat and the primary breadwinner of the family was not interested in “winning any bread” nor was he real keen on maintaining a fledgling family. To make a long story short, the man of whose loins from which I come, walked away before I could walk. To this day, I would not know him if we brushed elbows in the grocery store and that doesn’t make me sad.
Honest.
You see...shortly after her first marriage disintegrated, Raggedy Ann (I don’t know exact details but by now I’m sure that she had lost the costume) met a musician that luckily was in her same age demographic. It wasn’t long and a new relationship blossomed between the two with wedding bells and another child on the horizon. Before either of those came though, the musician made a choice. He made a promise. The twenty something, long haired, guitar playing young man made a choice to love ME - the fatherless, carrot-topped terrible two year old.
A choice. Forever.
To solidify that commitment, my Dadd adopted me in a Minnesota court of law a couple of years closer to the 80’s, and it was then that I took his last name. Their marriage didn’t last. The musician’s choice did.
I’m pretty sure that my parents divorced in 1980. I know I was in kindergarten. They both remarried at some point. Dadd : once & Mom : ummm, more than once. (Different story folks.)
But therein is my obscenely quick explanation of the funny little chuckle we get when people that don’t know “can tell that we’re kin”. You can’t. We don’t look alike because there is no biological connection. How could you know? I never expected you to. But fear not, that has never defined a family in my life. Being family is a “choice.” I’m not sad nor mad. I have a family.
I’ve kept the “Kirby” name and am actually one of a few that use it as a moniker like “Prince” or “Elvis”. The rest of my Dadd’s family has never wavered either. Loving me was never a biological requirement of Grandma Fox. It was a choice. Feeding me was never a “right of relation” required of Grandma Judy. It was a choice. Showering me with love and attention was not required of any of those aunts and uncles because they felt obligated that the “same blood” flowed through our veins. Because, in fact, it didn’t. Loving me was a choice. None of them had to do it, bound by some chromosomal crossover. They did it because they wanted to. They choose, as Dadd did, to love me and I am so very grateful that they did.
And all along, Raggedy Ann did the best she could with the situation she was dealt. Mom raised my sister and I to be caring and compassionate; to have the inner drive to succeed despite adversity. Mom was never given the “easy road” in life and through that was able to somehow raise good kids to become good parents.
Lest I forget my step-mother, Rose. She has made the same choice that I have made in my own adult life. She married a spouse with two kids and me, a spouse with one. She has loved me even when loving me was hard. She has helped me become the man and father I am today. I’m so thankful she chose me.
Contrary to popular belief, becoming a step-parent was not a pre-requisite in my courting days. I met and fell in love with a beautiful woman at college. And that woman had a son. Oh the irony...(Cue the sappy music...) Michele protected herself and her son in the early stages of our relationship but once she decided that I was alright, I got to meet Tyler. I fell in love again. I wanted Michele in my life forever. And I made a choice, to love Tyler too. I wanted Tyler in my life - forever.
I still do.
I love you Michele. I love you Mom. I love you Dadd. I love you Rose. I love you Tyler.
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