Wild Card: My Family Bible
From the beginning of this project, I knew I wanted to center my research around my family values. It was something I had personally struggled with and I wanted to represent it well in my research. So, as I thought about how I wanted the final piece of the puzzle, my wildcard, to fit in with the rest of my project it became clear to me that those values had to take the forefront of the role.
It was tough finding the right way to faithfully recreate the values that my family had imparted to me, but I finally realized how I wanted to accomplish it. This project was centered about the effect that these shared values had on my extended family and me. What better way to represent these values than by sharing how they impacted me? So, I decided that for my wild card I would write a series of short stories that reflected the virtues that my family always emphasized. I wanted to use this opportunity to share the types of values and shared history that exists within my family.
Each of the three stories below is a reflection of an experience I’ve had with one of my family members. Each encounter was pivotal in my life and represent core values that I hold with me to this day. They represent my family bible.
I remember the first apartment my family lived in. It was a small 2-bedroom place just outside Atlanta. I had recently started school We had just moved to America with our hearts full of excitement about the new experiences we were bound to have. My first memory of the place was walking home from school with my mother, who, being as outgoing as she was, had already made friends with most of our neighbors. They all seemed nice, but I hadn’t given most of them much thought. I had other priorities at the time, like my Hot Wheels trucks. There was one neighbor however, that gave me pause. Ms. Shloni. She always seemed standoffish towards my mother, as nice as she was. Worse, she never seemed interested in talking or hearing our story. My mother, however, was never fazed. She’d always only ever say positive things about that woman, no matter what happened.
Our apartment building did have kind neighbors though. We were newly immigrated so acclimating to American culture was incredibly difficult, but our neighbors were our saving grace. They helped us get ready for different holidays, events, and even helped me get ready for school. And we helped them too. We would invite them over for dinners filled with Indian food and culture. It was a highway of ideas and experiences that was created between two cultures. I remember one night specifically. We had invited over some of the neighbors for a dinner, and it was going really well. The adults were having a good time in the main room, while the kids were enjoying themselves in my room. We were in the middle of playing when we heard a knock at the door. No one else was supposed to arrive, so a few of us went outside to see who it was. My father opened the door and grimaced. It was Ms. Shloni. The atmosphere of the entire party changed. Everyone was clearly uncomfortable. My mother, however, didn’t hesitate to welcome her into the party. She quickly ushered her in and everyone sat back down. The party continued and soon after people began laughing and joking with Ms. Shloni.
Although, I don’t recall much else from that night. That moment stuck with me. My mother’s kindness, in the face of negativity from all around her, created a positive impact on the life of someone else. That experience became a core portion of how I view my relationship the world today.
I ran outside. The audition went beautifully, and I couldn’t have been happier. My dad was waiting outside the auditorium, he had rushed me to come out after tryouts for my elementary school’s rendition of Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer nights dream” because we had to go pick up my grand-parents from the airport. As I hopped in the car, he asked “Well, how was it?” Happily I replied “It went really well.” We talked more about the audition, the process, and next steps, and my excitement continued to grow.
When we finally got home, I checked my texts to see how my friends thought their auditions went, and my heart stopped. Apparently, there had been multiple rounds of auditioning. In my rush to get home with my dad, I had missed the other rounds. I was heartbroken. There was no way I would get a role in the play now. Tears formed in the back of my eyes, and I couldn’t hold it in. My dad in the other room came running. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I told him what I had just learned and he frowned. I wasn’t ready to keep talking about it so I ran upstairs and locked my room. I needed to be alone, I thought to myself.
When I finally came back downstairs, my dad was just getting off the phone. He looked at me and smiled. “What’re you doing?” I asked. “I just spoke to your teacher and told him that it was my fault you missed the second round. He said not to worry about it, and that he loved your performance. You got the part!” I looked at him stunned. My mind ran from thought to thought. I was so happy I got the part. I jumped up ecstatic and ran and gave him a hug. Then, quickly, I texted my friends the update. We would be working together on the play. We all made plans to meet up the same day and celebrate our success. I was so happy.
Years later, I thought back to that moment. Not because anything sparked it, but because that moment was so memorable I wanted to reflect on it. While thinking about the whole silly situation, It occurred to me what my dad had done. That situation could’ve been handled in so many ways. He could’ve just consoled me in the moment, gotten us some food and that would have been that. Instead, he took responsibility for the situation and helped rectify what had happened. In my mind, I never even considered him rushing me as a problem, or something that hindered my chances. But to him, my loss was his mistake. His integrity and ability to take responsibility for something that was so trivial astounded me. No one else would’ve gone so far out of their way for something as meaningless as a child’s play. My parent’s always stressed the importance of integrity, but that day my dad showed me what that truly meant.
My grand-parents live in a modest apartment in India. My “dada” (grand-dad) served in the Indian Navy and my “dadi” (grand-mother), like most Indian women during the time, handled the household affairs. They were both incredibly smart, disciplined, and kind people whom I respected more than anyone. My dada would always tell me stories about our family history. Apparently, my great-grandad was an incredibly successful businessman with houses and shops all over the country. My dada would tell me about those times and what growing up was like, and I would love listening.
I never thought of those stories as anything more than that. Just stories.
A few years later, we were back in India to visit and I was talking to my dadi. Somehow, the conversation of my great-grandfather came up, and I (foolishly) asked why they don’t stay in any of the mansions that my great-grandfather left my dada. She smiled and told me that my dada donated every single house. 18 houses worth millions each. Every single one was donated to orphanages, schools, and homeless shelters. I was stunned. My dada chose a life of discipline, through service to his country, and modesty instead of the possibility of lavishness and comfort. I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around what I had just been told. It was only years later when I finally mustered up the courage to ask my dada why he did what he did. He laughed and said only this “Why do I need all that for me and your dadi, when all together they can help hundreds more.” “All Dadi and I needed was each other.”
That moment stunned me. His ability to give back at that level. To be so confident in his life with his wife to give anything and everything that he had to help others in need astounded me. The sense of righteousness that drove him was unparalleled. At that moment, those stories turned into something more. They weren’t just his memories of our family. They were a reminder of our shared values. They were our family bible.
