Legacies

I am the embodiment - literally - of those who came before me. I have my maternal grandfather's face structure and nose, as do my mother and brother. My mother's features don't show much of her own mother, yet they clearly shared some of their build: short-waisted and thick around the middle. Waists (defined by me as an area that should slope inward, creating two separate, visible curves of hips and bust), were not something women from this side of the family inherited. My grandmother topped this off with an enormous bust; my mother not so much. Three generations of flat, rather small butts. And good legs. My Mom's legs still look great - shapely and tanned during summer, perfect for lounging by her pool.

I had, for most of my life, this same boxy, sturdy Volvo build. I now have modest curves, a waist that indents ever so slightly, and a respectable belly. Out of clothes, I have a better body at midlife than I did in my 20's, and not many people can say that. I will forever be short-waisted, and some time well after most women accept the “facts” of what their bodies will and won’t do, accepted that I would never grow or exercise into more vertical space on my torso. And I finally understand that this - short-waistedness - is the thing that prevents me from being able to wear off-the-rack clothes with panache, not my height, my weight, my shoe size (big for my height, but I can’t figure where that comes from, as my 9½ post-pregnancy feet far surpass my Mom’s 7), or anything about my actual waist size.

The way my Mom looks so much like only one parent, I look predominantly like her. I don't have my father’s facial features, although my skin reddens like his so perhaps I have his vein structure. I have my mother’s teeth by composition, but my father’s placement (can’t really tell now, as I’ve had years of braces, night gear, and retainers). I have my Dad’s love of fried foods; we'd rather order a fried food option at any restaurant, at any time of the day. And he and I devour the fatty part of meat, rather than cutting it away and leaving it for table scraps, like we’re supposed to. My Mom’s more of a nibbler, and goes for bread ends. I have my Father’s quick irritability and just-under-the-surface capacity for dissatisfaction, as well as his youthful optimism and playfulness (harder to see these days, but give him the right moment, and you’ll see it). I have my mother's quickness to put up a hard shell - the thing that separates survivors from victims in this world, but also takes a toll as it closes off deeper senses of contentment, love and ease – as well as her love of family and ritual, and her fierce commitment to participate in any kind of celebration, as if happy moments are in limited supply in life, so not a one can be missed.

My son is now showing his inheritance of physical and emotional legacies. He has big brown eyes and long lashes, Mediterranean olive skin, a small nose and high cheek bones. I can take credit for none of these, as they are nowhere in me or in my family tree. No, the physical qualities I’ve passed down to him are a gummy smile, hair that will become curly and unruly if allowed, and his eventual need for orthodontics. He has a quickness to feel emotional overwhelm, and pronounces the letter "r" with a Jersey twang. Gee – these, too, are directly from me (no one in the family is from Jersey, but apparently mouth shape and tongue placement, crucial for the 32 different types of "r" sounds formed in English words, are genetically passed along and he's inherited my childhood speech snafu). He can't throw very well (yet), holds his breath when catching a ball, and stands on one foot when doing both (as well as his homework). I cringe to admit - these are mine. Thankfully, he’s got parental figures intent to get him up to speed with sports, so we hope to help him move with ease through boy friendship groups and playground games. He might thus outgrow the legacy of the breath-holding, one-footed-stance sports misery, whereas I never have – I still hold my breath when throwing/catching, and if it’s a sport with a ball and an object with which to hit it (softball, baseball, tennis, ping pong, you name it), I’m still likely to miss the ball completely.

My son is funny, intuitive, linguistic, creative and sensitive (mine? His Dad’s? I'd like to claim all of these, but he could easily have picked them either side of the family tree). He doesn't get cold easily, and can wear shorts long into fall; here he's channeling my brother. If he ever plays trumpet or coronet, we'll chalk that up to my Uncle Al, who is fully responsible for my years as a terrible middle-school horn player.

I have come to shape the legacies I've inherited, and add on to them from the part of me that has come from seemingly nowhere. Or at least nowhere from the physical world. My son has qualities that come from this other source as well, unknown, but clearly not passed down from person to person. He has more emotional resilience than anyone from either side of the family; he can get along with others with such ease it's as if he radiates some primal magnetism, but his isn't off-putting or offensive, just joyous. And trust me, he comes from a very long line of very good people, but none of them have an inherently joyous primal magnetism.

So I hope to get this from him, to mold myself in his image, the way we tend to think kids mold themselves after adults. He and I will never look alike - no one who sees us can find a similarity of feature or body style (unless we both happen to be standing on one foot having a gummy-smile conversation with them). But nonetheless, his legacy will be his integrity, his love of life, his joyous nature, and the sound of a Jersey twang when his kids start speaking.