The Daughter of a Divorce

As a 9th generation Howard Countian, an American whose life speaks to centuries of faith and service here in the United States of America, I feel like the daughter of a divorce today. I love Republicans and I love Democrats. I apologize to anyone who lives with a traumatic reality of divorce. I am grateful for my parents who have continued to put in the work of love and life with a separate individual for over 46 years. I do not say this to shame anyone who’s made the difficult decision to start anew. Marriage can be difficult; being human and living with others is complicated to say the least. We all deserve to feel safe and at home wherever we are, and for a lot of people, that means deciding to let go of the lives they’ve built.

This said, for the whole of my life, I’ve had the chance to be surrounded and supported by my parents’ love, along with a generations-deep belief in a life of faith. It is a blessing to receive and a gift to witness—the love, the values, the dedication to maintaining independent personalities, hobbies, and identities, while balancing everything of life together as one couple. The commitment despite the disagreement. The commitment despite not fully understanding or being on the same page all the time

Generations of Service and Sacrifice

My parents’ youth was spent each independently traveling the globe on behalf of American democracy. I’ve stated many times in my writing, both of my parents were military brats. I learned this term at a young age. I grew up seeing my father leave monthly dressed in his air force blues and occasionally for longer periods in his camos and with a whole different type of gear than his regular business trip suitcase.

Both my paternal and maternal grandfathers served, traveling the globe with their families on behalf of the United States Army. My great-grandfather has his service documented with our local historical society for his brave efforts during World War II. And on my mother’s side, I grew up learning about the incredible life that was sacrificed for a deep abiding belief in American democracy. A belief that in 1969, during the height of the Vietnam war, my grandfather lost his life in service of a belief that all Americans deserve the freedoms endowed in our United States Constitution—freedom of speech, a freedom to disagree, a freedom to live a life of “liberty and justice for all.”

Maybe we do need to bring back the pledge of allegiance? I fear we’ve lost our allegiance to each other and to figuring out a way to find a new way forward where we can agree to disagree. Even better, sit comfortably knowing we can understand where another comes from and have a completely different point of view, and it is not about who’s right or wrong, just unique and different—a person to value that’s lived and loved and learned differently. I grew up having a mixed understanding and appreciation for our military and the value of every American to have a voice and choice to live the American dream. This understanding came at the cost of ever meeting my grandfather. This came at centuries of ancestors living under the imperfect promise of the constitution, and yet they rose each day in God’s glory to a life that in me stands beyond anything I imagine they could dream.

I know too that my ancestors’ braveness lives in me, standing up for the same values that my grandfather gave his life for and that govern so much of my life’s guiding philosophy: to make space for others to be imperfectly human, safe, comfortable, welcome to belong. For all of my ancestors, I wake each day seeking to create opportunities for connection and curiosity, love and honest self-reflection, without shame for our flaws, feelings, and historical backgrounds. I’m not perfect; I know I can easily come across as idealist and unrealistic. I recognize that my desire for all to find space feels like a threat to the very cultural values others hold dear. If you’re just joining, the promise of Columbia, Maryland, and of the Declaration of Independence runs deep in me.

Love as a Radical Act

Though these beliefs run deep—as deep as my faith dates back through both lines of my family history—I’ve never been more scared to speak up. I am beginning to find my rhythm amongst all the tasks, and there are morning hours that are not rushed where I can reflect and let go and try to bring sense to the future I strive for my son, my ancestors, my husband, my sisters, my parents—for everyone to know and live.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

I was raised in Columbia, MD with deep roots in western Howard County and Southeast Washington, D.C. I remember the Republican County Executive at my great-grandmother’s eightieth birthday celebration. I have an aunt I used to brag about being a part of federal investigations that would take down white collar criminals on TV shows like American Greed—getting the big bad guys that far too often robbed everyday citizens like me. I have a cousin who works for our local police department and who my son proudly gets to see in uniform on duty here in the county.

I went to Catholic school for the first nine years of my life and then a private county day school for high school. I spent my undergraduate years studying theater in New York City, and one of my most valued jobs since college was working for a national insurance company at a local field office. I have worked for nonprofits, believing in community and the value of home, and I have worked for local family businesses that believed in good service not only to their clients and customers, but also to their staff. I believe in all people as people.

And yet, I know this very sentiment is a real threat to those who fear their life and culture is under threat by those who do not see their life and way of life as one of value. I do not know where we go from here, but I know I love too many people on all sides of our political spectrum here in the United States and culturally across the globe to stay quiet and not seek answers to the tough questions we might not want to ask ourselves to face.

The Temperature We Bring

The starting point is the temperature we’re all bringing to the conversations. So many of us are tired and overworked, undervalued and struggling to keep up with the lives we’ve created or that were created for us—whatever the gift or fate of your journey, most of us are in some way or another short on a valuable resource: time, food, money. Simultaneously, you go online and so many are also thriving. They’re living their best lives and also failing fabulously; it’s all so public and so narrow. We get to choose our own reality. No one shares the same reality. Either the world’s on fire, or there is literally nothing but furniture repairs, garden tips, and food preparation techniques. I get lost down the latter.

I don’t believe in party politics because I’d love for someone to tell me where I belong. Neither side has seen me as a genuine believer, and they’re right—I’m American. I’m Catholic. I’m human. I wish we could all just find the value in this shared state of humanity and then work on the places where we disagree. Unfortunately, the tenets of civility I learned working in childcare growing up is something that is now seen as a political stance to be ignored by both parties because we’ve allowed ourselves to get to such a challenging, divisive time.

Creating the Space Between

I wish I could give the world a hug. I wish I could make everyone smile and remember—your farts stink, sweaty feet stink, rain can make a lot of people’s hair change states, clothes left in the wash will stink like mildew with little time and that’s always a bummer. There are so many things that we share that have nothing to do with the culture wars that so many are trying to draw us into. I have a five-year-old boy, so also—pardon the rabbit hole I took you down.

I’ve walked into a deep blue polling place with my husband of a different race and always remained unaffiliated. I stood in the discomfort of having Democrats look at me confused at what Republican values I could possibly want to uphold. I am unaffiliated. I have sacrificed my primary vote to stay outside of the mess we are now living in, and here I am, like a child of divorce. In the county where my family has been for more than 200 years, begging for both sides to find a place where I can belong—fully, wholly, imperfectly human.

While I might not have the answers, what my theater background and master’s work in cultural sustainability have provided me is the knowledge of the type of space we need to do the work of being uncomfortable while we find a way to figure out a new way forward. Perspective shifts, sitting in the discomfort of understanding how we impact others and the worlds we create with our values for others, and how there are at all times more than one story—even if we’re in a room where all minds are aligned, the experience of being, of walking in this world is unique and can never be fully calibrated to the same wavelength.

At Frank & Ethel’s I hope to bring the power of slowing down and creating inter-generational connections to foster a new sense of belonging and shared ownership for shaping our history together. Using technology to create opportunities for playful connection to life outside screens, connecting in person beyond roles and titles to curiosities, passions, strengths. A world where common ground is possible—at least, that’s what we’ll strive to offer you with anything we provide through Frank & Ethel’s. A space to be imperfectly human and on the journey of being and discovering what it means to be human with others navigating the beautiful mess of life: one story, one home, one connection at a time.