Meeting the Parents

Bluffton Today column
February 16, 2011

I haven’t been brought home to “meet the parents” in about a dozen years. So, when the “I think you should meet my parents” bullet came whizzing past my head, I was so stunned by the potential danger, that in a blind panic, I said, “yes.”

While still suffering a little traumatic stress, I may have also invited his parents to stay with us. Clearly delusional thinking on my part.

After I recovered, and came to my senses, I started asking questions. Of course, I knew they would love me. But, since I purposely have an uncomfortable bed in my guest room, to ward off houseguests, I was worried about what this first meeting - er, sleep over - would yield.

First revelation: They don’t curse. Um, sweetie, have you met me?

Second revelation: They don’t drink. Um, sweetie, have you met me?

Let’s face it. If I am getting through these two days, I’m drinking. If, I’m drinking, I’m cursing. This should be no surprise.

As I type this, it is Monday, Valentine’s Day, and they are set to arrive in a couple hours. I will be at a meeting, having bought myself two additional hours of panic. This basically means, in four hours, I will be walking into a house (my house) full of strangers. My neck is tensing and the red splotches that I get on my chest, when I am stressed, are beginning to form.

I don’t know why I am so worried.

It’s funny, because my parents and my sister and her family (I won’t mention their last name because my sister is always worried that I will mortify her in the paper) all live right here in Bluffton. So, if someone is in my life, they quickly meet my family because we are pretty tight, and heck, they are all right here. Proxemics being as good a reason as any to have to meet my family. It has never even occurred to me that meeting my family could be a source of stress. We are a great family. Of course, I believe that, because it is my family.

So, as I prepare to meet my significant other’s parents, I have great sympathy for my sweet brother-in-law, who has been enduring my family for more than 10 years. Poor guy. After making the decision to move to South Carolina, he thought he was moving 800 miles away from his in-laws. What he didn’t know is that his in-laws would quickly follow. I’ve heard my sister quip about being 800 miles away from her in-laws (they didn’t make the move) and each time her hubby retorts, “Yeah, I moved 800 miles from my in-laws too … and look what happened.”

Anyway, fast forward to Tuesday morning. I had water with dinner and I didn’t curse once. Ok, I cursed once under my breath when I nearly burned my hand pulling the roast from the oven, but under my breath doesn’t count, since they didn’t hear it. (If a woman curses in the kitchen and no one is there to hear it, did she really curse?)

Dinner was a success. Dessert was even more successful. So much so that when I said the cake was from Betty Crocker, his Mom thought I meant the Betty Crocker cookbook not the box. (She loves me!) She cutely said, “I think my Betty Crocker is much older than yours.” She was right, since I bought my Betty Crocker three days ago at Publix. We are both voracious readers and had a lovely debate about “real” books versus the Kindle and Nook options available today. (I got a Nook for Valentine’s Day…)

His father looks so much like my late grandfather, that my heart skipped a beat when I met him. He is quick with a joke and clearly enjoyed giving his bride (of nearly 60 years) a hard time. Also, just like my grandfather.

Bottom line. Dinner was like dining with old friends and family. I think that is a good thing.

Now, I wouldn’t be me, if I didn’t admit that part of me was hoping that something might go awry, for the sake of my readers. But, at the end of the day, as we all retired to our bedrooms (some with more comfortable beds than others) there was no tension in my neck and the splotching had subsided. All signs that I’m really not as bad as some of you think I am.