The Family I Found

The Family I Found

A pride song · Songbond

0:003:12
A song written from a true story Songbond
The story & lyrics

The story behind this song

A Friday table of mismatched chairs, too many plates, a spare key already cut and on someone's ring. These are the people who didn't fix the bad phone call home — just made tea and sat on the floor so nobody was alone. The ones who taught the dish with the burnt spoon handle that tastes like belonging, who showed up to the hospital when the listed next-of-kin didn't. There's a gap where the first family should have been, and it still aches; but it got filled without anyone having to ask.

Family turns out to be a thing you do, not a thing you're handed. Someday, asked who counts as kin, the answer won't be the photo on the mantel — it'll be the room everyone's standing in.

For the ones who became home when blood didn't.

Lyrics

Pull up a chair, there's always one more,
we kept a plate warm by the door.
Some Thursdays back I came in shaking
from a phone call that went the wrong way home.
You didn't fix it, you just made tea
and sat on the floor so I wasn't alone.
You taught me the dish with the burnt-spoon handle,
the one that tastes like I belong.
You kept a spare key on your ring for me —
that's how I knew where I was from.
Not the name on my birth certificate —
the names I'd run through fire to get —
this is the family I found.
The ones who showed up, the ones who stayed,
who drove the long way around.
Family's a thing you do, not a thing you're handed —
this is the family I found.
There's a gap where the first one should've been,
I won't pretend that it don't ache.
But you filled it without me even asking,
showed up at the hospital, no debate.
The group chat never sleeps, somebody's laughing,
somebody's crying at 2 a.m. —
and whoever needs the couch, the couch is theirs,
and we set the table again.
Not the name on my birth certificate —
the names I'd run through fire to get —
this is the family I found.
The ones who showed up, the ones who stayed,
who drove the long way around.
Family's a thing you do, not a thing you're handed —
this is the family I found.
And someday when I'm old and grey-haired,
when they ask me who was kin —
I won't reach for the photo on the mantel,
I'll point to the room you're standing in.
You weren't given, you were chosen,
and I'd choose you all again.
This is the family I found.
The ones who showed up, the ones who stayed,
who drove the long way around.
Family's a thing you do, not a thing you're handed —
this is the family I found.
Pull up a chair, there's always one more.
This is home. Lock the door.

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