I learned of my Aunt Reyna’s passing a few weeks ago. I didn’t grow up near that side of my family and didn’t see them too often, but I have fond memories of time spent at their house on the farm.
My aunt and uncle had seven children and it was fun to be in a house full of kids. My cousin Ghuenda, the oldest, told me that when she was a kid, she and my other cousins would get into all sorts of innocent mischief, and they never got into much trouble because their mom was always holding a baby.
The last time I went to visit their family at their farm in Redcliff, Alta. was when my daughter was only two months old. It was an impromptu trip, one I am so glad I took.
My Aunt Reyna told me that she was sad when my parents divorced because they missed me and my brother.
It was beautiful to hear, because I never knew. It’s weird when you are a child and think most things are your fault.
I never thought that they missed us, and it was such a meaningful thing to hear as an adult.
My uncle Morris, my father’s brother, met my aunt when both of them were serving their Mormon Mission as young adults. They married and she came to sa国际传媒. My father passed away years ago. He always lived far away, and I didn’t see him much. That last visit with my aunt helped remind me that even if I didn’t know it, I was loved and they were my family.
On that last visit, I mentioned that I had an urge to pierce my baby daughter’s ears, but was worried that people would judge me, or that it could be bad for her.
I mentioned this to my aunt, and she replied: “In Honduras, they pierce the newborn girls’ ears in the hospital.”
I was shocked and intrigued.
If you spend any time on parenting sites, forums or social media, baby ear piercing is a hot topic. I felt a bit of shame for even wanting to have her ears pieced, but still a deep feeling that I should do it.
My aunt looked at me like, “What’s the big deal? Why would you even worry about that?”
A couple of months later, I had my daughter’s ears pierced. For the next year or so, I had random strangers stop me, mostly in the grocery store, to talk about her earrings.
The conversations always started the same: “Oh, she’s so cute, and you pierced her ears.”
I would always respond with a smile and a “thank you.”
Then the tone would change, and they’d say: “I let my daughter wait until she could make the decision for herself.”
One time, someone approached me and said: “What are you going to do when she’s mad at you?”
“What do you mean? For what?”
“Piercing her ears. You’ve permanently changed her body without her consent.”
“I guess I’ll say sorry and take them out,” I responded as I walked away.
I wish at that time I understood that comments from strangers don’t require a response or justification.
Each time I felt judged, I thought of my Aunt Reyna and how she shared with me the Honduran cultural practice of ear piercing.
When people would stop and judge me, I always felt the support of my aunt and the comfort of knowing that there were thousands of babies in Honduras with cute little earrings, just like my daughter.
My aunt and her family are deeply religious. On that same visit, I shared with her how odd it was that in my baby pictures, from when I was only a few months old, I looked just like my dad. I am adopted and there’s no genetic connection between us.
“I know why,” she said, referencing her faith and the gifts she believed we are given.
I don’t share her religious beliefs, but I was touched by her faith and reminder that sometimes what I think of as a coincidence might not be.
There can be comfort in that. Something in your culture and family may not be the same as other people’s culture and family customs.
If you follow in the footsteps of your family, that connection is something you carry with you. The judgment of others doesn’t matter.
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