Braced for a reality that doesn’t come up roses
I used to dream about the day when my family would be joined to another family, the in-laws, and we’d all be one big happy family. In this dream the women would shop together and stop at a quaint Café where we would sip tea and coffee across the street from an independent flower shop with fresh fragrant summer blooms; the boys would drink beer and joke predictably about the things women do, in a moment of shared understanding between men.
It seemed only natural to me that if I found the man who I loved enough to commit my life to, our parents, who love us respectively, would naturally love each other.
My humble fantasy has long since been significantly altered, but not entirely replaced. I don’t picture a candy-coloured 1950’s hallmark version of family bonding anymore. Which is good. That vision could make even Barbie gag, and we all know she hasn’t eaten since 1950, so she’d be coughing up her non-existent organs.
The most obvious hindrance on my partridge family scenario is the physical distance. The Bahamas to Canada? Not exactly an everyday excursion. Also, as stereotypical as it may sound, I’m pretty sure that 9 our of 10 times it’s the mothers that initiate friendship and the dad’s just follow along. (9 out of 10. It’s a statistic. I fabricated it, but it’s probably right.) I have only my notoriously-bad-communicator, incredibly liberal Dad, while The Welshman has his polite, affable, unobtrusive, conservative parents. Clearly the chances of my fantasy-family are limited.
Despite their overwhelming differences, they do have some things in common: The Welshman’s father and my father both have a dark sense of humour, they are both tight with their money, love old classic cars, and are cultured in wine consumption (ie. They drink it. Often).
But, I can’t help wondering if they will get along; if they will have things to talk about; if my dad will let slip that The Welshman and I have been living together for 2 years (his mother thinks it’s been only 1, and his father doesn’t even know that much). I wonder if The Welshman’s parents will somehow get on the topic of religion, or my father will start talking about Scottish politics…oh the list is endless.
At least I can hold onto one bit of knowledge: The Welshman’s parents are British, and my father thinks he is. In fact, my fathers inexplicable love of all things British, has lead me to speculate that Dad may actually like The Welshman just a wee bit more than he likes me.
The Welshman was an instant hit, so his parents probably will be. Maybe?
Tomorrow, The In-Laws arrive in Halifax. The Parents meet.
I just hope my dad doesn’t resort to a fart joke to fill an awkward silence.
January 4th, 2008 at 5:26 am
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