Family members are like boogers- you get to pick them

For the past couple of years, I’ve referred to my adopted family members as “boogers.” Why? Because I can pick them, and that’s what makes them special. With my birthday only a few days away, I’m celebrating the gift of having many adopted family members. But I do have fewer this year.

The person who got me started calling folks my “boogers” was my late, great friend, mentor and grandfather figure Wheeler Cobb.

Calling each other “boogers” started as a joke, but it turned into something truly endearing. To him, “booger” was like a codeword for grandson. This world lost Wheeler almost a year ago. He’d lived a long, wonderful life, sharing his blessings with others along the way.

As a longtime tractor mechanic, he’s the one who got me started working on old tractors, and what a joy that has been.

I know he’s riding a tractor somewhere up above. A couple other adopted family friends of mine have slipped away, too. Earlier this year, Jack and Linda Day joined each other in Heaven only days apart after some health battles.

My family and I miss them on Earth, but I know they are rejoicing together today and forevermore. Jack, a long-haul truck driver and gun dealer, was a slimmer version of John Wayne: strong, moral, and sometimes a little bit gruff. But under that hardened veneer forged by years of tough life experiences was a man with a big heart for people.

It was big enough to let in Linda, one of the sweetest women I ever met. She was a talented seamstress, and she loved collecting antiques. Most of all, she loved hearing about how her friends and family were doing.

One way or another, these folks all worked their way into my family tree. We were never related by blood, but we were family just the same. If I were to put together a family tree, I’m not sure how I’d chart it.

Once it got to my parents and me, stray branches would pop out. It’d be hard for anyone in the future to understand.

Those branches would look totally different from every other one on the tree. That’s the beauty of having friends who become family. They take root in your heart, and you take root in theirs. That’s where they’re planted. And from one small root – one short encounter with a stranger – love blossoms.

My heart breaks to know that so few people in this world understand what I’m talking about. So, so many – too many – people barely have relationships with their biological families. My family has experienced this at times, too. But no matter who you are, you can have the adopted family of which I speak.

The best part is that you need not hire an adoption lawyer or appear before a judge. You get to make the judgment yourself: Is this person someone I care about and want to be around? If the answer is yes, that’s the start of a great friendship. The more you nurture that friendship, the closer you’ll get. Before long, you’ll be like family.

And, in time, you’ll have adopted one another. In the past, I’ve tried to name every person I claim as my adopted kin. I had better not try that now.

The good Lord above has given me more people like that than I could ever imagine or count.

Granted, the ability to count them all is limited by my admittedly terrible math skills. But I sure know them when I see them, and that part of the beauty of life.

The older I get, I say as I'm in my early twenties, I begin to want material gifts less and less. If I never got another gift from a store or website,

I’d be just fine. I want for not. What I do desire, above all else, is more time to spend with my family and adopted family. More time to sit around and have a good talk.

Or maybe not talk at all. Maybe we just sit around and enjoy the mere presence of one another. Though I’m busy working for two newspapers and going to college, I am blessed to say that I get to spend a fair amount of time with my adopted family.

More would be great, but I'll take what I can get and celebrate it.

As life goes on, I begin to see that this is truly the greatest gift of all. The best part about spending time with my adopted family is that I get to pick them. I don’t have to worry about seeing people

I don’t want to at adopted family reunions. No crazy uncles here, though I do have a pretty ornery UncleBob. But I digress. This year, I’m choosing to celebrate the party of people I call my adopted family. They’re my boogers because I picked them. They didn’t come from my nose, but they found their way into my heart.