Interracial Marriage

I was going through my pictures, and I found a picture of the cake that Cassidy made for us for our 25^th wedding anniversary party.  A beautiful fun filled party that our children gave us.  Susi put it together and worked so hard.  We were so surprised and grateful for good friends and family that came from so far away.

I got looking at that picture and thinking about interracial marriage.  Interracial marriage is not very common, however, more common now than 35 years ago when we were married.  I can remember saying to my mother that I could marry the boy next door and it could be considered an “interracial marriage” that “color” wasn’t the only indicator of differences.

Eti and I were advised not to marry.  We were told that we came from two different worlds. (duh) We were told that it would be way too difficult, that Eti was too Samoan, and I was too American. (?)   Well, I’m not going to lie, there have been some difficult times.  Has it been worth it?  Absolutely!  My life has been so diverse and full.  I’ve been exposed to many different cultural experiences.  I have learned how to be more patient and kind.  I have learned that there are some things that really just don’t matter. 

Would I recommend an interracial marriage?  Well it would depend on the circumstance and who the marriage was between.  Like any marriage, there is a lot of give.  There is no room for selfishness, or the idea that my way is better.  I remember comparing Eti to my father and it seemed like an unfair comparison.  Now I know that it was unfair.  They are two different people.  Daddy had many wonderful skills, but so does Eti.  They are different skills but worthwhile skills. 

I have watched each of my daughter-in-laws make that same comparison.  I have watched each of them learn and grow and recognize that we are all a work in progress.  Hopefully we’ll all continue on and perfect ourselves regardless of where we came from. 

Interracial marriage is not for the weak at heart, but it does produce beautiful babies.

Smells

My student teacher, Trisha Haber, just stated that smell is the most powerful sense, and when we are writing it is the one of the most effective.  I started thinking about that and my thoughts immediately reflected on my childhood.  I can remember more days than not coming home from school, especially in winter and walking in the door.  As I entered the back porch, open the door, I would stop and smell.  The best smell in the world would waft through the room and hit my nose, baking bread.  Is there anything more wonderful?  To me, warm baking bread was a symbol of hard work and love. 

I would run into our den, and mom would be laying down resting, as she said “putting her feet up.”   There was usually a fire in the fireplace, and everything felt so cozy.  She would get up and cut me a piece of bread, and I would put butter and honey on it and devour it.  It was always so good.  I can see myself sitting at the kitchen table eating with honey dripping down my fingers.

I thought about what other smells evoke fond memories, and there are too many to mention, but I do love a rain storm, especially in the desert.  The smell of the rain hitting the earth is a form of renewal.  I love the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies baking.  I love the smell of pine trees and any of those wonderful smells that come with Christmas.  I guess most especially I would love the smell of clean children after a long hard day of work, then baths and clean hair.  Not only is that a wonderful smell but a wonderful feeling as well. 

Easter

As I was thinking about the holiday today and how the Christian world celebrates Easter, I wondered if our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ would be pleased.  I remember when I was young, we always had a picnic lunch and went somewhere.  Most of the time, we would just hike up to the canal behind our house.  It was quite a hike through the fields, and through the fences, skipping over irrigation ditches, missing cow pies and cows.  Many times it was muddy, and we would come home a mess.  I remember Bruce and Kris coming out and going with me.  The canal was always dry and one time Bruce ran through it under a bridge that was probably 100 feet.  He soon came running back and the look on his face was frightening.  He said there was a man in there at the other end.  We raced home, and surprisingly mom and dad didn’t seem too concerned.  They figured it was probably a hobo who had stopped there for the night.  We lived in much safer times. 

I always remember Easter Saturday as a time for the Easter bunny and all the worldy stuff that we do.  As a child, I don’t remember Easter egg hunts, I remember getting a basket with candy, but mostly I remember family.  I guess that is what is truly important.  As my children came along, we always did our Eastering on Saturday.  There were never any egg hunts or baskets on Sunday.  Sunday was a time to reflect on what our Saviour has done for us.  I think about it now, and Easter is THE most sacred of holidays.  Jesus was born for this purpose. 

My heart is full of gratitude at what He has done for me.  I know that my life has not been perfect and for Him to take my sins upon Him is a gift and blessing that I can never repay.  I suppose all He asks of us is to love one another and keep His commandments.  On this beautiful spring morning, I hope to renew my vows to try and do better.