A common language and understanding allow for clear agreements. Memorandums of Understanding. Contracts.
I am a child of Martin Luther Kings Dream, but I am also a child adrift.
Of my genetic heritage, I am similar in physicality/appearance and in legal birth name only. I don’t share the same accent, or vernacular, or dialect. I don’t share a similar sense of place or formative environment. I am not from the same place as my parents, or of our ancestry.
I was birthed and grew up in North America. Canada to be specific. On the western prairies. My sibling and I grew up, in part, in the suburbs and in part on the edge of the city of our birth. Family was parents and my maternal grandmother. The three of them and came from some place else. While we are all from the Americas, they were born in the South while I was born in the North.
My parents were birthed and raised on the same hot continent as each other, but not as me. In the same country. In the same city. I am of the Western Canadian prairies. There was always snow in April for my birthday. They share the same accent, vernacular, and dialect. Culturally, we are not the same.
Opportunity and choice brought them here. Number, distance and circumstance meant that I was raised as a child of THIS continent.
I am not from the same place as my parents or of our ancestry.
I was surrounded by the hetero-sociality of Here.
I feel a responsibility to not let their seed die. However, I end my mother’s matriarchal line. A powerful line. A line I do not know. My father’s line is unknown as well.