Incidents of Extreme Affection

With the exception of her wonderful mother, my wife has spared me from the rest of her family. She says it is for good reason. I always wonder how true the "good reason" defense is since I've only seen glimpses into her family:

Family Member     # of Meetings     Overall Impression

Grandmother         One                    Unmemorable
Grandfather           One                    Adorable
Uncle                      Two                   Charming/Funny
Aunt/Cousin          Two                   Flakey

This holiday season, I met the grandmother a second time and started to understand the "good reason" defense a little better.

Lunch with the grandmother, an aunt I'd never met, and my wife's mother sprung up like a weed in a perfectly tended-to garden. My wife and I arrived first. The longer we waited, the more the dread collected in my chest (I knew I would get through it, I just wasn't looking forward to it.) And then there they were, the immediate family, walking through the door. They wore their stress and weirdness with each other on their faces, it was clinging to their clothes. Introductions were made. It was awkward. Conversation was strained. It felt like everyone needed to take a collected deep breath in and let all the shit they were carrying with them out.

Our table was ready. We sat down. And then came laughter. Sarcasm (my favorite!). Kindness...? My wife's grandmother even asked if we could send her a picture of us since she does not have any. Cool.

And then the check came.

Talk about awkward.

For a family that doesn't hurt for money (I mean that in a way few of us will truly understand,) the discussion around the check was weird. As my wife's mother recounted the discussion they had had earlier regarding who would pay for lunch--she was paying--and how the grandmother had checked out during that conversation, she also checked out during the retelling. It was obvious that as the matriarch of the family and the one with the most money, nothing in her was going to consider paying. I got it that money was a sore subject for the family. I thought that was the weirdest part of lunch.

The report came back from my wife's mother. The grandmother experienced a completely different lunch than I did. Because the grandmother witnessed, between my wife and me, <cue deep, scary voice with reverberation> incidents of extreme affection!

Dun, dun, dun-dun!

Oh my god. What did we do? I didn't recall sticking my hand up her shirt. Did I french kiss her before our meals arrived? No. Did I run my hand through her hair, down the back of her neck, and across her cheek? Don't think so. The only "incidents of extreme affection" either of us can conjure is when I offered her a bite of my meal off my fork and vice versa. Oh, and we helped each other put on our coats when it was time to go. You don't have to be gay, or even a couple, to do shit like that. We didn't even hold hands!

I call bullshit.

"She was born in 1923" is the defense surrounding the grandmother's words. My grandmother is only five years younger, and she wouldn't have thought twice about it. This isn't a generational thing--although many want to boil it down to such simplistic terms--but a stick-up-the-ass thing.

I said Fuck it! a long time ago to making others feel comfortable with my relationship. When I act like my relationship is something that should be tamed in certain situations, I do me, my wife, and gays and lesbians everywhere a disservice. I will not poison my life to make sure grandmothers, or anyone else for that matter, maintain comfortability in their bigotry.