Another chapter in my book

Let me know your thoughts...
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There were a lot of us. There always has been for as long as I can remember.  We were often mixed up, names assigned to the wrong person. Ages would get lost after the first two were stated. It just became fact for me really. I simply had a lot of sisters.  My home was complicated in dynamics.  Though, I didn’t know that until I got older.  When I was little, it was grand.  I had older sisters and I had younger ones. But only ever sisters.  We’d lay at night in bed (sometimes sharing beds) and would giggle, laugh, snort and do anything except go to sleep.  We used to take road trips as a family in this big van that had a table in the back and the seats laid down to make beds (back when seat belts were more of a good idea than a law).  I had no other frame of reference than the large, unique family I had. I remember my first few months at college where I wrestled with a very strange and unfamiliar sensation - men.  I had never had to really deal with guys on a regular basis. I had never had brothers.  And at the time, it all seemed so strange, their behavior, their communication, and their thought patterns.  I had a hard time reconciling the world of women to the world of men. I just didn’t get it.  I recall (with embarrassment) multiple conversations with my college guy friends about why they did what they did; emphasizing that I thought what they did was just ridiculous.  And then I read a book - a really good book. One question has remained with me and has stuck out to me years later since the book, “Why do I expect men to behave and respond like women?” Good question.  My frame of reference had to shift. I was wrong.
I’ve always been more black and white than grey in my thinking.  For instance, I had this stuffed animal when I little. I insisted it was a stuffed donkey therefore his name was “Donkey.” My family tried, unsuccessfully to convince me it was actually a rabbit. I would have none of their suggestions. It was, without doubt and most obviously, a donkey.  I pulled Donkey out of his dusty, old home a few years ago and realized, Donkey should have always indeed been Rabbit.  In my mind, there were no other options, no other alternatives. It was as it was.  Trying to re-convince me of any other opinions is like trying to stop a freight train.  However, I am told, once I’m proven wrong, I openly admit I’m wrong and move forward with corrected thinking - never looking back to lick my wounds.
The make up of a human being, who we innately are - what we do, say, speak - the life long controversy of nature vs. nurture - am I the outspoken, black and white girl who is unmovingly confident until proven wrong because of my upbringing? Because of the DNA from two also very outspoken parents who hold strong beliefs? Am I me because of my culture? Yeah, sure! Why not? Seems obvious to me that all those things make up who I am.  Would I have been more balanced in my approach to men if I’d had brothers? Yeah - probably. Would I be so black and white if I had been born in Canada rather than the States? Maybe not - but maybe yes?  Would I love embracing the frustrating, joyous lifestyle of living in community if I had not come from a large, wonderfully strange family? I probably wouldn’t have known the beauty of heartache and the joy of sharing in dreams if I hadn’t.  I can’t complain about my heritage, about my nurture,  It is me. Though, those that know me, may have some complaints about my nature.  For that, the only consolation I have to offer is that I am a working progress.