I clearly remember the first time I went to New Jersey to meet my partner’s parents. We had been dating for almost a year and were talking about buying a house together: it was time. He had not seen his folks in over a year, but he walked in, pecked his mother on the cheek and nodded pleasantly at his father, like he was returning from the mall. His father poured everyone some iced tea, his mother turned on the Golf channel and we all sat down. During commercials we discussed if the weather would remain fair.
We were still drinking iced tea and watching the Golf channel 48 hours later when we departed. My partner pecked his mother on the cheek, nodded to his father and we left. My partner was delighted the annual trip went so well. “They really liked you,” he said. “I’ve never seen them so animated.” I nodded, speechless.
After such a rousing welcome, I felt it incumbent upon me to introduce my partner to my family. As it happened, my older brother was planning a barbecue for my big sister’s birthday, and this seemed a perfect time to make the introductions.
Unlike my partner’s restrained, WASP-ish kin, I have a large rambunctious family. No one in this group has ever done anything quietly, let alone sip iced tea: this group favors wine and rum and vodka, in massive quantities. When sober, my family is not constrained by social pleasantries, to put it loosely, these are not the kinds of people who would let a mouthful of mashed potatoes inhibit them from voicing a loud, vehement opinion. When the alcohol flows, what little restraint they may have had goes out the window.
The party was at my brother’s house because he has a big home suitable for entertaining a large quantity of people. My brother’s wife insisted on serving steak to celebrate my sister’s special day, but my brother balked at the expense, got sulky and decided to ask everyone to pitch in $10 each to pay for the steak. My brother is not the kind of guy you would see lighting his cigar with a dollar bill.
My partner and I arrived at the front door a moment behind my mother and the birthday girl. As I started the introductions, my brother greeted us, did a fast head count and said, “That’ll be $40.” My partner, who had apparently never been to a family dinner with a cover charge, gulped. I hastily handed my brother two twenties, and told him I’d cover my mother and sister, all the while avoiding eye contact with my partner, who I was sure I’d never see again anyway. “The bar is by the pool,” said my brother.
As we entered the house, my mother was telling my partner that for $10 we had better get doggy bags to take home the leftovers and my partner kept nodding frantically. We lost my mom and made our slow way to the bar, making introductions the whole way. By now, my partner had a slightly hysterical smile glued on his face; if you’ve ever seen a dead raccoon by the side of the road, you know the look.
On the way to the bar we stopped at the buffet table to get some chicken wings. The wings were greasy and when my partner saw my sister-in-law walking by he asked for a napkin. She smiled at him. “You don’t need a napkin, Honey,” she said, not unkindly. “We’re aren’t those kind of people,” she added, “we don’t put on airs.” Eyes wide, my partner nodded like a madman.
When we got to the pool and I saw my 25-year-old nephew was tending bar with his girlfriend, who was a stripper, I almost ran away. My nephew was already deep in the grape. I made more introductions and my nephew looked at my partner, looked at me and said, “So this is your new one?” Before I could answer, he looked at the stripper and said, “You should have seen his last one,” and shook his head morosely.
By now I was wishing that I had been born an only-child in a Unitarian family, but I figured alcohol would help, so I asked my partner what he was drinking. “I’m short of cash,” he said. “Are you buying?”