Taking Care of Our Own

“I’m just trying to take care of my own.”

It’s a notion that, on the surface, makes sense. If all people took care of their own, we’d all be fine, right? If all of us made sure that “our own” had a decent shot at a good life—had all their basic needs met, had a chance to get an education, had a safety net when life threw a curveball—if all of us took responsibility for our people, we’d be fine, no?

Maybe. It seems simple enough to be true.

But then it gets complicated quickly when we ask: who are “our own?”

For many, the answer is, “family.” Parents, children, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, Mee-maws. People who share a high percentage of genetic material.

For my family, that definition of “our own” breaks down quickly. My sister doesn’t share genetic material with me.  But she’s obviously family.

And so are Rose Mary and Nancy, who I automatically assume will be at every family gathering, even though they don’t share genetic material–and I’m not even entirely sure when they started coming. (It was before my birth.) Nancy’s son, who was born in China is also family, even though he didn’t realize I was a girl until he’d lived in this country several months and finally saw me wear a dress to church. (Must have been Easter, because I usually got to wear pants.)

And so are the foreign exchange students who stayed with us, Tomomi, Laura, Caro. Yes, they were Japanese, Finnish, and German respectively. But all of them stayed in Bolivar, Missouri, for a year (or more) and ate my mom’s mashed potatoes or broccoli, rice, chicken casserole—or whatever it was that we were eating at the time. (My family goes through food phases.) Point is: family. Clearly.

It isn’t hard to see where this is going. Obviously, family would include childhood friends who were comfortable enough to pop into our pantry (which my brother had adorned to look like an elevator) to look for snacks. It would include my teammates, who were unafraid to show off their bowl cuts and pot bellies posing beside a hotel pool while we were away at a basketball tournament in fourth grade. It would include my college rugby teammates, with whom I shared my first beer—chugging it from a dirty cleat after scoring the rugby equivalent for a touchdown for the first time in a game.

And once I’ve included that many people, it becomes a slippery slope. I can’t draw the line without including co-workers, students, former students, former co-workers, grad school collaborators, the bar tenders at Josie Woods…etc. etc. etc.

I could even go so far as to say that the group of mostly strangers who sat with me in a small Off-Broadway theater last night and watched a touching musical based on an LGBTQ hate crime in New Orleans in the 70’s—I could say that they felt like family. (The show: The View UpStairs. See it.) There is something about an intimate experience, shared, that can form a bond quickly.

Of course, some will say, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly put people you sat with in a theater for 100 minutes on the same level as your cousins. They can’t possibly be “your own.”

My response: If you saw the show with us, you’d probably understand.

And it’s some version of that response I’d give you for all of the people that I mention—and for the many many many that I don’t. Look, if you met them, if you taught them, if you had studied or played or created with them—if you did that in a spirit of open-mindedness and kindness–you’d understand why they are my own. You’d understand why I’m so upset when they are attacked. You’d probably feel the same way.

There’s a saying about three cups of tea turning “enemies” into friends, no? I’m not looking it up. I prefer nachos. But the point still stands.

So where do I draw the line for a person being “my own?” I guess nowhere. I’ve always preferred boarders to borders.

That’s not to say I like everyone. I don’t like a lot of people. I fight with people. I compete against people. Some people make me completely crazy. But that has never disqualified someone from being “family.”

And before you write me off as the wide-eyed, naïve idealist (of course, every family has one), let me say: I think some people cause a lot of damage. Some people are not safe or healthy to be around. Some people have to be stopped and held accountable. Sometimes taking care of your own means doing just that. And I know many of us have different definitions of what behavior needs to be stopped. For me, it means standing up to an intimidating homophobic neighbor, writing honest blog posts (or novels or operas or musicals) that might upset a relative, and marching against the hateful President. I may have shared a childhood with the neighbor, I may share genetic material with the relatives, and I may live in the country that that President heads, but they are no more “my own” than anyone else. They don’t get a special pass for unacceptable behavior. And I won’t defend them at the expense of any other person. That’s where the line drawing comes in. For me, it’s not about who “my own” is; it’s about what “my own” does.

I will always hold myself and my own to a standard. And that standard isn’t a relative one. Four-year-old me gets mad about a game gone wrong, bites my two-year-old brother, and says, “But Bryson bites sometimes, too.” That does not make my own behavior OK. Would my mom be taking care of her own if she said: “Good point. Everyone bites. So carry on.” If I had bitten another four-year-old, one outside my family, the principle still obviously applies. I can’t say, “But I heard he bit someone once…he’s a known biter!” Even a four-year-old can learn that this is not a real standard. All is not fair in love and pre-school rivalries.

But we live in a time where the news is dominated by pre-schoolers with power and a Twitter accounts.

A time of:

“Oh yeah? Then Arnie, you’re not invited to my birthday party. Neither are any of the FAKERS!”

“I didn’t want to go to your stupid birthday party anyway.”

“Yes, you did, and you’re not invited.”

A time of:

“Barry looked at me funny.”

“I did not. I was in the front seat, looking out the window.”

“You made a face in the window. Everyone knows it. It’s something you would do.”

A time of:

“I didn’t bite him.”

“Yes, you did. There are teeth marks.”

“They aren’t mine.”

“Then just open your mouth and show us your teeth.”

“You never made Hill-Hill open up her mouth, and she bit every kid on the school bus and stole their lunches. She’s stealing your lunch right now!”

“There is no evidence of any of that. And she did open her mouth.”

“That’s cause she just got rid of the other bite marks. She ALWAYSSS gets away with it. People are starving! Why don’t you punish her! This is soooo unfair!”

And instead of acting like adults, many of the people who could check and balance this infantile behavior are saying, “Well, he’s ours. So.”

Right. Otherwise, he’ll throw a fit. Otherwise, he’ll make your life miserable. And that’s probably true. He probably will. A lot of us–myself and people I consider “my own” but he considers his “enemies” (his New Years words, not mine)–certainly are miserable.

“My own” are already directly affected. My own are afraid to get on domestic flights because many of my own have been detained (regardless of immigration status).  They are unsure if they will be able to go to the bathroom without it being an offense. They are afraid of the police even though they’ve committed no crimes. My own are being called “enemies of the people.” My own are losing funding for their art. My own are about to lose protections for their environment. My own are worried that our President may be compromised by personal and business connections that leave all of us vulnerable. My own are worried about freedom of the press. And about freedom in general. My own are worried that they will lose healthcare without having a reasonably affordable alternative. All of this has happened to me and my own since the election.

Still, much of the country seems to believe that if they just take his side, he’ll take care of them. He will put America first. He will still take care of his own. And no, granted, “his own” doesn’t include immigrants, Muslims, refugees, the LGBTQ community, or women who want full control over their sexual health. But those people are outsiders. Those people are set up as threats to “his own” and their way of life. And “his own” may not include people with “pre-existing” health conditions. But those people…I don’t know…complicate things too much? (Who knew it could be so complicated?)

To those of you who think that way, who feel safe because you are “his own,” do you not worry that the day may come when suddenly “his own” does not include you or your kids or your kids’ Pee-Wee teammate or someone else you love? Someone you do actually consider your own?

Should it even have to get to that point?

Can people really feel good at “taking care of their own” at the expense of others? Specifically, can anyone really feel good about getting a tax break—or even about getting a better job (as unlikely as that probably is) and being able to take the family on a nice vacation–can people feel good about those things at the expense of democracy and human rights?

Fine. The nice vacation quip is not fair. A lot of the country is struggling to get by. I certainly understand that. And a lot of people have more hope in Republican political positions than Democratic ones. I think they are wrong, but fine. And maybe there are people have a pessimistic view of life: that it’s a dog-eat-dog world, and that there will always be “winners and losers.” And maybe those people are willing to sacrifice the rights and dignity of others as long as it doesn’t affect them. Better than being a loser. And maybe those people are willing to live under a anti-press tyrant as long as he…again, I don’t know…cuts business regulations? Lowers your taxes? Lets you pray aloud in school? Saves the embryos? Brings back factory jobs? Whatever you think it is he’s going to do. Never mind that those things could, in theory, be accomplished without sacrificing the rights of others and ending democracy–that a conservative political agenda could be carried out by an actual leader without isolating and demonizing immigrants and religious and ethnic minorities, humiliating women, infringing on the rights of the LGBTQ community, banning the press, and tweeting at Arnold Schwarzenegger. Is that where we are? Do we have no standards for our leaders anymore?

That’s the question I’m asking of Republican leaders. And of Republicans in general. And Democrats, too. Maybe you don’t have as broad a definition of “your own” as I do. Really, I think both Republicans and Democrats have too narrow a definition. You may find it impossible to include people who are “outsiders” to you—who are immigrants or who are gay or who are Muslim or who have different political affiliations or who live in other countries—as part of your own. Maybe you are ignorant enough to write off these groups of people as too repulsive or inhuman or scary. Maybe you just need an enemy to hold accountable for the problems many of us face. Or, hopefully more likely, you just think it’s just too much to try to worry about that many people—that a person can only take on so much and do what she can do. And maybe that’s fair. Maybe you’re right.

But can’t you at least ask your toddler to open his mouth so we can see if the bite marks match? Is that too much to ask? Maybe we would go so far as to say he ought to stop bullying all together?

Look, family, I don’t mean to get political. I’m just trying to take care of my own.