Sounds sweet doesn’t it?
But it wasn’t. He was, and likely still is a man full of hatred and fear. His message carried the sinister connotation of not letting yourself forget the shame you came from.
Remembering your roots should be about joy, triumph, and a legacy that leaves you proud and happy to have the roots you do.
Almost 20 years ago, I trimmed out the rotting, diseased roots, and kept the good ones. Someone sent me an email today and referred to their stubborn Irish relatives and the ‘loud-mouth soup’ they needed in order to engage in meaningful conversation.
My stubborn Irish relatives are the roots I tend. We’re crazy, straight up, would give you the shirt off our backs and do anything for you. Unless.
Unless you mistreat us. In other words, the golden rule rules. If you forget that, you can forget it. As in, don’t even look at us.
Sometimes a quick trip to reconnect is the balm I need to inspire myself to live more fully. In a world seemingly surrounded by people with ulterior motives, whose actions contradict their words, it’s nice to see my own refreshingly naked communication style reflected back by someone with the same genes.
After all, I like the woman I’ve become. Being happy with myself, confident of my abilities, and strong-willed has served me well. An afternoon in the hot tub sipping wine with my Auntie set me straight, and inspired me to keep on keeping on.
I’m all for remembering your heritage and ancestry, as long as you drop the shame, guilt and dysfunction that casts a shadow over your fabulousness.
Remember your roots darlings, but be sure to prune the poison.