Harper Lee, the author of “To Kill a Mockingbird,” once wrote something regarding the fundamental difference between family and friends.
“You can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge ‘em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.”
While “To Kill a Mockingbird” is in my top 10 of favorite books, I have to disagree with Harper. We don’t look silly when we cut someone out of our family for being a genuine threat to it.
Child predators, homicidal maniacs, cannibals, clergy members, alt-right zealots may constitute such a threat to their loved ones that NOT giving them the boot for good is irresponsible.
Oh, sure, they’re still technically part of our blood. We might even have to acknowledge that the lunatic who ran off to fight with the Islamic State group and murder innocent people is somehow related to us. But that doesn’t mean we have to let that wacko back into the fold.
Friends are different. We’re able to vet them. Sliding out of the same womb has nothing to do with the enormous value they add to our lives.
For example, even though we have different parents, Sonny and I are bros no matter how many times I have nearly been killed while in close proximity to him.
If Sonny needed a kidney, I would give him one of mine. Hell, I wouldn’t resist (other than the perfectly acceptable screaming) if he tried to cut it out himself.
True friends value the relationship because it was earned on both sides. This is not to say that a friendship can’t be broken — only that it is a deliberate choice.
So is family. With apologies to Ms. Lee. You can also choose your family. If you have read this far, know that my entire family picked a new granddaughter Friday morning.
At a brief ceremony in Salt Lake City’s Matheson Courthouse, 12-year-old Faith, my previous stepgranddaughter, became my actual family granddaughter. She was adopted by my daughter Gin, who is married to my son-in-law Kirt.
Faith came into my life back in 2009, when she was 2. I’ve watched her grow up and fight her way to be on an all-girl tackle football team. She’s beautiful, funny and tough. She’s also a bit crazy, which she gets from her father. And now from me.
Faith is now my blood. I’ve studied up on the matter. According to hard science, Faith’s DNA actually changed to my family’s DNA when the papers were signed. Don’t ask me to explain. It would go way over your head.
The point is that she is now my blood, one of seven granddaughters, all of whom I love. I don’t have to worry about the law or even that lame “Families Are Forever” nonsense.
I can say this because my blood now runs through her veins. Officially and genetically, she is part Kirby.
I probably ought to feel bad about that part, but I’m too busy loving her.
Robert Kirby is The Salt Lake Tribune’s humor columnist. Follow Kirby on Facebook.
