I was blessed from the moment I was born. I had eight grandparents and five great-grandparents. I have countless cousins and loving aunts and uncles. 

I couldn’t have had all of this without having the family that some people would judge. 

My parents were pretty young when they had me. My mom was younger than I am now. Yes, it’s mind-boggling, but know that while it may be hard to grasp for you, it was never something I gave a second thought to. 

She wasn’t my “young” mom. She was just my mom. And what an amazing mom she is. 

Because my parents had me so young, I was able to see their struggles firsthand. It wasn’t anything major, and I’m not trying to put them on blast, because it’s not something that I even see as bad.

I’m glad I saw the struggles, whether it was financial or just miscommunications. It taught me real life. 

I was there to see my mom at my age; to see that version of her. It’s something not a lot of people can say at 20, and I think I have an advantage because of it. 

I was privileged enough to see my parents work their way up the ladder. I was with my parents when they became first-time home owners, I was with them when they graduated college, I was with them through promotions and life lessons. Life lessons I’m currently learning. 

Being 20 years old, single and childless, and coming from a place where that’s not the norm, makes me appreciate all of the people who had to do it all. 

I’m a college student, and that’s hard enough. I can’t imagine having three children and trying to do that, while also getting my degree. Long story short, my mom is my hero, and the older I get and the more I grow into adulthood, the more that becomes true. 

Yes, my parents are young. That’s a gift in its own way, but it also brought me so many other gifts that come with it. 

I was able to have all of my grandparents growing up, plus some great-grandparents. Not all of them are biological. 

All of my grandparents are divorced. Again, something I never gave a second thought to. Because of this, I was able to have more grandparents than everyone else. Suck it. I love my eight grandparents. 

I only lost my first grandparent in 2023, when my Grandma Shirley died. It was single-handedly the worst loss I’ve ever faced. 

Grandma Shirley was my best friend growing up. Not to brag, but it was a pretty open secret that I was her favorite. She loved us (her four granddaughters) more than anything in this world. We felt it. We knew. 

If my parents had me at the age most people have their children now, in their thirties, I would not have had the time with my grandma that I did. She mentally declined years ago, and I wouldn’t have even known her if they hadn’t had me when they did.

Another perk is that all of my grandparents are close to each other. Right now, as I write this, my dad’s dad (Gramps), and his stepmom (Grandma Brenda), my mom’s mom (Grandma Barb) and her stepdad (Papa), are all staying at my house, sound asleep after watching my cousin’s (Kristopher) USHL game together.

Gramps and Grandma Brenda aren’t even related to Kristopher, but they were cheering right along with Grandma Barb and Papa. 

Speaking of Kristopher, let’s talk cousins. Because of how close my family is, my first cousins were raised together, as close as if we were siblings. My second cousins are more like first cousins, and yes, I know my third and fourth cousins too. We still go to family functions, no matter how big and distant it can get. 

I have “step” cousins. Though I would never call them that. They’re just my cousins —the same way my dad’s stepbrother, my Uncle Derek, is just my Uncle Derek. 

It can also get confusing when I have to explain to someone that, no, my uncle isn’t actually my uncle, he’s actually just my mom’s cousin. 

I have four biological uncles. My oldest uncle is my dads half brother. He’s in his fifties. My youngest uncle is my mom’s half-brother, who just turned thirty and wasn’t even 10 when I was born. If anyone were to ever specify that “half” part of it, I would be sleeping in a prison cell for the rest of my life. 

My Uncle Nick is not my “half uncle.” He’s my uncle, plain and simple, and he and my Uncle P are the best uncles a girl could ask for. 

We were blessed with Uncle Nick because we were blessed with my Papa Mark. I don’t know where to even start with this guy. He married my grandma in 2004, and found out he was going to be a grandfather a month later, if even that. Talk about whiplash. 

No one could ever replace my Papa. While a different grandparent struggled to show up at times, Papa was always there. He brought me to school when I was a kid, he coached my sister’s softball team and he was there for every birthday, every holiday. Everything. 

My Uncle Nick and Aunt Ashley just had a beautiful baby girl. The first biological grandchild for Papa. But, never for a second, did I have any insecurity that this was going to change anything. I am his granddaughter through and through. I am so privileged to know this kind of love.

It never crossed my mind that I had an “abnormal” family structure until I moved to Connecticut. Where I come from, this is all the norm. As much as I trash-talk about my hometown, this is one thing they did right. 

I love my family, biological or not.