For much of my life, I have struggled with the concept of family. Who is family to me? And who gets to decide: Me? Society? Tradition?
Most of my family lives halfway around the world in Japan. Their language and customs are difficult to learn and master. I fear they will never see me as a full family member.
I am gay. That affects who wants to claim me as a family member.
And now, in my home, I find myself in a family with children who are not my own, but possibly mine.
My ancestors also struggled with the question of who is family.
My mom, born in Japan out of wedlock, was considered a disgrace and was rejected by her father’s family.
Neighborhood kids in St. Louis teased my father that his stepmother was not his real mother, forever altering his connection to her.
My great aunt disowned my father and his brother when they each divorced their wives simultaneously. These wives became the caregivers for my great aunt until she died.
When I was in college over 25 years ago, I recorded interviews with my family members to get their perspectives on how events affected family relationships and dynamics.
This installation contemplates the wounds of exclusion and difference, accompanied by clips from these interviews with my family, all of whom but one are now deceased.