Family is not a Rockwell painting nor a Hallmark card. It’s a war zone, a haven, a club you don’t remember asking to join, It’s a source of humiliation and great pride. It’s where you learn the art of negotiating, waiting your turn and your place in the world. It’s where you experience outrage and immense tenderness. It’s where you may feel you never really belonged or a steel clad guarantee, that you do.

If you are very fortunate, there is at least one responsible adult in charge of the family who teaches you to maybe not love broccoli but to eat it anyway, as there may come a day when being polite will matter; to have enough manners so not to be an embarrassment to yourself and others, and to learn enough self sufficiency to cope with whatever will befall you.

Family is who loves you, warts and all, who may fight with you, but turn on a dime, and fight for you, if you are threatened.

Family is not a house; it is the home you keep in your heart, when you step out on your own, having learned how to live as a human being.

Family may not be blood, but a chosen group of people who be may be more user friendly and reliable, who have your back as you have theirs.

Family is a beating heart that makes a rock on which to stand and belong, because it is where love lives.