One of the things that my wife and I try to instill in our children is a sense of family identity and pride in it. I find the entire concept interesting and fairly alien to my upbringing. Growing up, my name was just that, a name. While there were some famous Dewey’s in the history books and we can trace our heritage back to the 1600s here in America, it did not really intrude much in my life (other than the quickly thought-of insults on the playground, but hey unless you are named Smith, you’ll get that).

So as our oldest, Hope, grew up, we would talk about all of us as a family. We created a silly thing called the “Dewey hug” where all three of us would hug simultaneously. We would refer to ourselves collectively as the Deweys and generally make a big deal when we did something special as a family. When Piers came along we continued this and helped Hope to enjoy and appreciate the new addition in our family. As time goes on our strategy seems to be working pretty well and as the kids get older, I’ll work to instill some family history in my kids.

A while back, Amy found a copy of a family diary from one of her ancestors. It dealt with life in rural Oklahoma back in the 1800s and listed the different aspects of day-to-day life. This diary was written by an ancestor of Amy’s, one of the first female doctors in Oklahoma and listed interesting things like the birth of a 20 pound baby and being trapped by snow for days at a time. It was an amazing read and even more so when you realize that those people are your family.

For me I was hit by a more chilling encounter. I took Hope to Florida with my mother and sister for a family reunion on my mother’s side. There were some people I knew there but mostly it was strangers. That side of the family always seemed to have different barriers to relationships going on so it was often difficult to know who was currently talking to whom. There was a long period of time in my life when I did not talk to anyone on that side of the family. As I grew older I realized how silly this was, especially considering that I had no problems with any of them. I reestablished communication with them and enjoyed reconnecting with people I hadn’t really seen in ten years.

So we are at this family reunion and everyone is wondering if my grandfather’s Cousin Leon will be coming. On Saturday he arrives, dressed nicely in a long sleeve shirt. Given that it is July in Florida and I’m sweating in a t-shirt, I’m slightly surprised at this. All of that generation soon gather on the table and update each other on the fate of the various members of the extended family. My mother pulls my sister and me aside and tells us about this cousin. He was thirteen and Jewish in Poland during World War II. The Nazis came and rounded everyone up and put them in a horse drawn wagon of some kind. The back was full so the soldiers made him ride up front with him as they went to the concentration camp. When the time came to unload the prisoners, the soldiers went to the back of the wagon, leaving Leon up front. He took the opportunity and ran off into the woods and escaped the Nazis although he never saw his family again. He always wore long sleeves because the Nazis had tattooed a serial number on his arm. Cousin Leon spent his time going to different schools and talking about the Holocaust from his eyes.

Family can be annoying at times and no one can infuriate you like your family can but in the end they are the only people you have a permanent tie to in this world. I feel that kids who have a solid family identity and know how important they are to the family unit will be better prepared to deal with the various pressures that come during life. They will know that they are part of something greater than just themselves and they can call on it whenever they need to. Being part of a family is special and I want my children to know it and learn about their amazing family history.