My People

“They’re my people,” my friend said after speaking with a family across the park.
“Your people? Are they from Puerto Rico?”
“No, but they speak Spanish.”
“And that makes them your people?”
“Well, yeah.”

That got me thinking. Does everyone have people? I started listening to find out what others had to say about their people. Some claimed people simply because of skin color. Others claimed people based on their having the same religion or because they liked the same sports teams. I’m an English-speaking, Jesus-loving, white-American mutt. Who are my people? The majority of the U.S. population? If they are my people, then I was obviously adopted.

But there was something to what my friend said in the park that day, he and that family spoke the same language, which meant they understood each other. Perhaps that’s what it means to have people. Your people understand you because you speak the same language. Not a language like English, Spanish, or Zimbabwean, but a language laced with special terms, idioms, movement, and intent that can be immediately understood by those who speak the same language.

Of course that didn’t get me any closer to identifying who my people might be. There are plenty of English speakers, who I don’t understand in anyway shape or form. That goes for white people a well, so I started looking little deeper, and reflected on religion. I am a Mormon, and have been my whole life so I speak fluent Mormon, which is rich with special terms, turns of phrase, and customs. For instance one might hear at the beginning of church: “By way of announcements, please don’t forget the Relief Society activity at the Stake House this Saturday, and please let us know if you can bring a dish of funeral potatoes.” This does not mean a charity organization is bringing their own poisoned food to a restaurant. If you spoke Mormon, you would know this. But does speaking fluent Mormon, make them my people? I don’t know. While I do understand Mormons, I’m hesitant to say they are my people because I am not sure they always understand me.

So who are my people? Who speaks my same language? My people would understand why I randomly do somersaults. My people would laugh (and not be embarrassed) when I make a goofy face or feel the need to go bouncing around the room. My people would join in or at least hum along when I make up a song. My people would quote cartoons and storybooks and Disney movies. I guess that means my people are all about 4-years-old.