“Every man is a bridge, spanning the legacy he inherited and the legacy he passes on.” — Terrence Real

My father is still with us as I write this. His body is fighting his failing mind and currently winning the battle. But we all know the score. He’s not long for this world.

He was one of sixteen kids. It’s easy to get lost in that number of humans moving from adolescents through puberty and into adulthood living under one roof. Most of them stayed in close proximity to one another, a few moved far away just to have some elbow room where they could learn to fly on their own. They’ve stayed tight, perhaps because they realized just how special their family was, or maybe just because they found they liked each other’s company. They’re an easy bunch to grow fond of. Watching them gradually pass on has been a lesson all its own. And now it’s dad’s turn.

I was one of four when our parents split up and found their way to other people. Both of them found their (rest-of) life partners immediately after that. Maybe that was luck, or a stubborn commitment to make their next relationship work… or both. I know I’ve learned from both of them and the life partners they chose afterwards. Each of them did the best they could. It’s up to those of us who follow in their footsteps to step off of that bridge and make one of our own.

We are each the product of the people who raised us blended with the people who surrounded us as we grew up. That person we became inherited some baggage we may carry forever or leave on the curb as we work to change our identity. The trick is to carry the best of us while exchanging our worst traits, habits and beliefs for better ones. We are all works in progress.

Somehow, in that blend of parental influences combined with a hoard of uncles, aunts and cousins, then blending in new siblings and step-siblings, we must decide who we will be and go be it. So much kin—how do we possibly carve out an identity of our own? Just who will we become when we are wrapped up in so much inherited identity?

I can see that I developed into a George Bailey-type character (from It’s a Wonderful Life), with a tendency to stick around even as I want to fly. A gift of presence and dependability anchoring the drifters in our lives. Whatever it is, I watch that movie with the same frustrations George Bailey has, and the same realization that what I’m anchoring was worthy of the tradeoff. We know that a good bridge needs to be anchored in something solid on both ends. As with my father in his final days, I’m still holding on, and the story hasn’t ended just yet. It seems that I’m just like a bridge after all.