Blood relations

Not so long ago, while visiting, I witnessed a remarkable conversation. One of those present said that friendships are more important and stronger than family relationships. He was immediately supported by the majority, with a touch of proud love of freedom. Of course, friends are our own, conscious choice, and no one chose relatives. With friends, we are united by common interests and views, and with relatives only common and often unpleasant problems. Of course, there is a duty to parents and children, but this is completely different.

It was also said that the bonds of kinship were strong in times of patriarchal relations. Then the family was united by the economy, economic and moral tasks, the need for cooperation, defending their interests. But the days of patriarchy have passed, children fly out of the nest early and begin to live their own lives. In this we have almost caught up with the West.

Blood kinship is still highly valued among some peoples, where clan relations exist and tribal consciousness prevails over individual consciousness. I noticed that, as far as I know, among these peoples, children do not send old people to nursing homes, and there are no orphanages at all, because one of the relatives will certainly take a child who has lost his parents into his family. Everyone agreed that it was wonderful, but what to do, we will not return to the tribe.

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Actually, the conversation was only an occasion to think about the meaning of blood relationship. The weakening of family and kinship ties is obvious.

Relations with relatives develop, generally speaking, according to the same rules as between friends and in general between people. Whether we share the passions of another or not, whether there is affection or not. With one person we grow together mentally, with another it comes to enmity. Then is it possible to speak of consanguinity as a special category of relations that stands out from all others?

In my opinion, yes. I’m not talking about the fact that brothers and sisters grew up in the same environment and they are sometimes related by the earliest experiences and the circumstances that accompany them. Memories of them are sometimes enough for a lifetime, they are sweet or painful, but they always contribute to the clarification of one’s own image, help to build the story of one’s life. Parents are the only creatures in the world who remember you from your first cry, from the first step and word. Without their memory, the initial time of life, when character and ideas are born, would remain in eternal oblivion. Skip the first chapters of the biography.

Therefore, it is important to know how they lived and what they wanted. After all, they, one way or another, wanted to convey their desires to you, put their dreams and misfortunes into you. Only this, their story can explain why, how and what of you and you turned out.

But it’s not only that. Of course, we all now know about genetics, but we live as if it does not exist. We self-confidently believe that we have developed our character and built our life exclusively on our own. The fact that we have a mole on our shoulder from mom, and close tears in our eyes and stubbornness from dad – well, cute details that are always talked about with a bit of irony. The son with extraordinary care and beauty inscribes addresses, packs things, repairs and attaches new elements to a broken chair. They say: all in the grandfather. The granddaughter, flirting or objecting, stretches her palm vertically in front of her – the exact gesture of a great-grandmother, whom she had never seen.

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After all, all these are only external observations, but there are manifestations that are more important, essential, almost elusive. Elusiveness confuses, and sometimes torments, for it, perhaps, we set off on a hike through the branches of the genealogy. Because we understand that we do not fully consist of ourselves, that our ancestors secretly passed on to us some of their traits and habits. Why, then, are they inattentive to their closest and still living relatives?

I do not know a person who at least once did not admit that he feels guilty before his parents. Out of this feeling of guilt and pity, he nurses them when they become old and sick. And what was the fault? Yes, carelessly. Attention is born out of love. So you didn’t love? They loved it, of course. But selfish. Not actually them, but them as the source of their life. They loved themselves as being separate and independent. And that means not quite yourself, not complete yourself.

It is not immediately possible to understand that this non-attention and non-love for parents is the reverse side of non-attention and non-love for oneself. Because we, to a much greater extent than it seems in youth, consist of them. We not only owe them our lives, but we continue their lives, even if we want to live in spite of them.

They say about love: reckless, crazy. But there is also smart love. Parents are her best, and perhaps her only subject.