This is a story about families then and families now.

Dear readers, meet my friend, Helen Christy. In her mid-80s, still fit, lively and tuned in, Helen is someone I have known for over four decades.

When I call her a friend, that is accurate. But our real connection lies in her being the mother of my longtime friend, MaryAnne Christy.

Bear with me as I paint the picture. It will be worth it.

I met MaryAnne when I was the youngest of staffers in Dick Lamm’s governor’s office and she, eight years my junior, was the youngest of interns, working there while she was still a student at East High School.

A lifetime friendship grew out of that connection, including MaryAnne serving as one of the “groomsmen” at my wedding when both my wife and I chose to have a combination of men and women standing on our respective sides.

But back to those first years, the picture I had of Helen was as something less than the world’s most tolerant human. Born and raised in Wyoming, the same being true of her husband, they had moved to Denver where he found significant business success. Theirs was a beautiful home in the Country Club neighborhood.

Helen was certainly leery of me early on, a suspicion I now understand having a daughter of my own. But far beyond that rational reaction, she sure seemed to have a rather hard, judgmental edge.

The story goes that at a family dinner on MaryAnne’s 18th birthday, MaryAnne told of having registered to vote that afternoon. Her mom inquired how MaryAnne had registered. Upon hearing that her very independent daughter had declared herself a Democrat, Helen is reported to have replied, “Well, that’s like telling me that you registered as a prostitute.”

MaryAnne then went off to Yale where she met and started dating Mark Klebanoff, a Jewish boy from Seattle. After college, they lived together in New York City where both started promising careers. When Helen and husband Gary, now sadly deceased, would visit, MaryAnne had to construct a façade of living independently.

After a few years, they were engaged, though suffice to say that Mark’s family learned this news well before Helen and Gary. Surnames don’t get a lot WASPier than “Christy” and Helen, in particular, struggled with the thought of her daughter marrying outside the faith. Even if MaryAnne and Mark eventually tied the knot under a chuppah in the Christy’s lovely backyard.

Things changed quickly when a few months later MaryAnne’s younger brother showed up to announce his betrothal to a young woman he had met in Taiwan who spoke only limited English. All of a sudden, the Jewish young man from Seattle seemed a far better fit in the family picture. It’s all relative.

Now flash forward. MaryAnne and Mark have been happily married for over three decades and have three wonderful, accomplished, grown kids. Her brother Peter and his Taiwanese wife Donna tied the knot not that long after and have raised two great kids of their own.

But those five grandchildren have certainly tested Grandma Helen’s capacity for growth and acceptance. It is a test she has aced, overcoming her own narrow background.

MaryAnne and Mark’s oldest, Emily, recently married a young Indian man, Karthik. Youngest child, Ben, was Lulu until a few years ago when he made the gender transition.

As if grandma needed another curveball, Ben is in a relationship with a Black woman.

On the other side of the family, Peter and Donna’s youngest also made the difficult choice to change genders. Jamie Christy had been born Anya Christy.

It may all sound like a modern-day sitcom. But it is real life.

As for Helen, who years ago looked askance at a prospective Jewish son-in-law until he suddenly compared quite favorably to the Taiwanese daughter-in-law to be, all of this is very much yesterday’s news.

“I have this weird family, but all families have their weirdness,” Helen comments. Truer words were never spoken.

She goes on, “If all of them are happy and safe, that is all I can ask for.” Acknowledging that her transgender grandsons are more content and at peace in their new identities, she expresses the grandmotherly worry: “Neither Ben or Jamie have chosen an easy life.”

None of this is to suggest that Helen’s growth came easy. Or that it was tantamount to flipping a switch.

Asked how she had found this acceptance and grace, Helen flippantly offers something about, “leaving Wyoming.” In a more serious vein, she recalls growing up in rather secluded Cheyenne and never having encountered a Jewish person until she accompanied her husband to Harvard Business School.

Helen mentions the presence of a stepmother in her early life who drove people away. She then talks of making a conscious choice not to become that person. In her words: “You either love them and keep them or you alienate them.”

Hooray for her choice and generosity of spirit.

Politics is a distinctly secondary part of this tale. Nonetheless, I asked if her political views and affiliation had changed as part of this evolution. Clearly, the contemporary GOP is not the Republican Party of her heyday.

She lets me know that she had started voting for an increasing number of Democrats way back in the early years of this recounting. And then changed her party affiliation around the turn of the century.

“I decided to register with the party for which I was already voting.”

Beyond the account of one gracious person and her “weird” family, this is more broadly an American story as we become an ever more diverse, polyethnic fusion. Some of that comes with political connotations and baggage. I, for one, could do with a lot less categorization and division of people by racial or ethnic or gender identity.

In her own gracious manner, the product of profound personal growth, perhaps Helen Christy points the way. Love, acceptance and connection come first. Everything else is white noise.

Eric Sondermann is a Colorado-based independent political commentator. He writes regularly for Colorado Politics and the Gazette newspapers. Reach him at?EWS@EricSondermann.com; follow him at @EricSondermann