Family Ties

"This looks like a tortilla!"

I looked over at my friend, Elva, and laughed.  We had just opened up the tin-foil packaging of a street festival food dish called shawarma, a middle eastern concoction of cut seasoned spit-cooked lamb and beef, mixed with tahini sauce and chopped salad makings along with a spread of humos and wrapped up in a fresh loaf of pita bread.  We were enjoying an afternoon at the Second Annual Lebanese Festival.  Of course, it looked like a tortilla, I thought to myself.  Elva is of Mexican descent. 

For almost a decade, my last name was Michael -- a well known Lebanese family name; and while I was married to Gabe, a Lebanese-American, I met numerous young fellows straight from Lebanon who came to the United States for their education, somehow ending up working for Gabe as a waiter at his then Lebanese San Francisco restaurant called The Grapeleaf.  Sitting there in the plaza square, I felt quite comfortable with a familiarity I hadn't experience since the last Lebanese picnic I had gone to with Gabe almost twenty five years ago.  Where had the time gone?

Relaxing under the bright sun at the Redwood City Plaza enjoying my shawarma burrito, music began to blast through the speakers and a large group of young people dressed in traditional Lebanese costume began to gather near the elevated band stand.  Seats around us quickly filled up as families began to settle themselves in for the afternoon's entertainment.  Young mothers and husbands with their babies in strollers greeted what looked like their moms and dads -- proud grandparents of those young new lives.  I saw cousins greet cousins and brothers greet brothers who were the uncles to someone in the groups.  Sisters and aunts embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks.  English was replaced by Arabic.

As the young performers began their show, it suddenly dawned on me.  This entire plaza filled with Lebanese families, young and old, was actually filled with one big enormously huge family.  The sense of ties was so evident that I saw them reach as far back as the country of Lebanon itself.  Its strength and power was apparent as I gazed upon the congregation.

And then I thought about my own family ties.  I thought about the general ties of the American extended family.  I know that in my own family, I am estranged from all of them.  I don't know my uncle and aunt anymore from my father's side, and all of my mother's sisters have since passed away.  My cousins are unknown to me and my only niece and nephew were shut off from me when my mother passed away for reasons set for another blog.

As the young people danced and acted out their skits, family members cheered and clapped at their performances.  The support and enthusiasm from all sides lifted my spirits and jerked me to the present.  I, too, clapped and cheered at their performance.

The enormity of this family overwhelmed me.  Perhaps one day, I will be united with my sisters and my brother.  I missed them.  But for then, I was glad to be a small part of it for that one afternoon with my Lebanese family under the sun at the Redwood City Plaza.