A friend sent me an article that snagged my full attention. My hope is that I do not cloud its message with this brief review. 

 

The nuclear family is flawed. 

 

The extent of my experience with history is truncated. My mother was generous in telling stories about her childhood, and there are my grandfather's books. But even that span of a hundred years is minuscule in the scheme of anthropology. I simply have not been around very long. 

 

The Nuclear Family Was a Mistake by David Brooks delves into the brief deviation that happened in the fifties. People strove after individuality at the cost of extended family. In the beginning of the last century when my mother was one of twelve children bursting out of a house much smaller than is considered standard in today's market, her connections with aunts and uncles and cousins were vibrant. By that I do not mean perfect. There were difficulties, and stormy interactions. My own affections towards relatives are genuine enough, but the reality is that after the age of seven I did not grow up down the street from any of them, and there were a hundred. I could no longer walk uninvited through their back doors, play group games in their yards, nor help myself to the contents of the fridge as my mom did. My own children's connections to their cousins and grandparents are even more slender, such that my son once stepped on a train and noticed someone he thought might just be his cousin. Which it turns out he was. 

 

The author describes the brief window in which the nuclear family emerged, and for a time, worked. In 1961 young husbands made four times as much as their fathers had at their age. Plus modern conveniences convinced everyone that this was the taste of true freedom. But dishwashers, even avocado colored ones, do not make for good company. 

 

In 1800 the vast majority of homes were sprawling conglomerates of related people who not only lived in community, they worked together. Farms and family businesses were the norm, and added to the necessity of strong bonds. This provided resilience, and a web of support in times of struggle. Childcare was so deeply embedded into the routine it did not yet have a name much less a price tag. No one could have made a career of being a doula, since there was an abundance of aunts. Assisted living facilities would never have filled their beds, since homes were multigenerational. Counseling as a profession had no credibility because there were plenty of people in your life already. One of them would listen. Or whip you back in line. 

 

The ways people showed up for one another throughout history... barn raising, handyman skills, rides, a casserole, have gradually been replaced. The current generation has to pay good money for a repairman, an Uber, and take out. 

 

It can feel stifling to understand that the arc of human interaction has bent in the direction of autonomy, seemingly to the point of no return. But then again being more aware of our common hunger for meaningful connection reminds me that this week I can bring a meal. Give a ride to the airport. Listen with my whole heart.