The Link

When I was a young mother, I used to feel such pride when someone complimented one of my sons.

“He’s so polite.”

“He’s such a great athlete.”

“He’s so well-behaved.”

I’d stick my chest out and beam.

I thought who they became was, in some way, a reflection of me.

Maybe even something I controlled.

And it was… until it wasn’t.

I remember feeling something very different when someone said they knew my parents.

Not pride. Something closer to worry.

As if their mistakes would somehow define me.

It didn’t.

Although sometimes, it felt like it did.

I realized (much) later that we don’t inherit someone else’s mistakes.

Nor do we inherit their goodness.

And then I started to see it everywhere.

My connection, real or imagined, to other people.

My siblings.

My neighbors.

Fellow Louisianans.

My church family.

These are my people, right?

But do they represent me?

Do I represent them?

And then I got to the big one. 

As a Catholic, as someone who claims the name of Jesus Christ, do I represent Him well?

I once read that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.

Some days, I’m not sure where I fall.

Some days, I know.

We come into this world carrying a family name, but what we do with it is our own.

That truth is freeing and sobering.

I am not responsible for how others live their lives.

But I am responsible for mine.

Not for the whole chain.

Just my link.

That’s the one I control.

And that’s enough.