My parents and I have always said that surely no family laughs so much as we do. Within five minutes of getting together, we are cracking up. I mean it literally takes about ten minutes before we are hysterical. And we keep laughing until we part company, and that is true even if we’re closeted with each other for a solid week. I don’t quite know what it is, but I think it has something to do with how much we enjoy being happy, and how much we enjoy harmony. We have all three of us been very considerate of each other’s feelings, and when we hurt or offend one of the other’s feelings, as is inevitable in a thirty-year relationship, we apologize and forgive very quickly because, quite frankly, we don’t like being mad at each other. I’ve often noticed other people who seem almost to take pleasure in being offended and will hold to a grudge until they can’t even remember the reason. And I’ve always been grateful that my family has never been like that.
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And I’ve often wondered how another person could fit in with us. We have always been such a happy threesome, sharing a brain and truly understanding one another, cognizant of our individual identities as well as our collective identity and as joyful as that has made me, I have also felt an adjacent anxiety that my husband couldn’t possibly fit because he wasn’t raised for decades with this.
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Now, I could never imagine anyone not falling in love with my parents. All stereotypes and hellish stories of in-laws disappear like so much ether when my parents are the in-laws. I always knew that anyone I brought home would be charmed by my parents simply because I had brought him home, so he must be special. And even though my parents, as innately private as they are, wouldn’t show the full force of their personalities to a virtual stranger, they are simply incapable of not charming others. And then when the familiarity had grown and the walls had come down a bit more, I knew that my husband would simply fall in love with my family. This was always the only logical picture I had in my head, as I knew I would never choose someone whom my parents disliked since we were of one mind in so many things, the most important of which was what sort of person we admired, respected, and wanted around us, and also because I knew I would always be guaranteed of my parents loving and welcoming with open arms anyone I brought home because they would want wholeheartedly for me to be happy.
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So I never worried about my family, snug and small as it was, opening up and welcoming new additions, but I did always wonder how well my husband would fit. Would he understand the jokes and thought processes and little idiosyncrasies that so uniquely define and characterize my little family?
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I probably should have realized long ago that as my parents and I are so alike, and I would only fall in love with someone who truly understood and accepted me, that it would naturally follow that he would understand my parents. So much of what he would love about my came directly from my parents. If a = b and b = c, then a = c. and this is precisely what did happen when I finally found my soul mate and brought him into my family. But what is so astonishing, although in hindsight not surprising, was just as he brought his own unique personality to me, so too did he do that with my parents. No, he is not exactly like me. Of course not. But he understands me as no one else does and loves me as no one else does. And what I find is that he is still himself with my parents, confident from the beginning in who he is, not nervous about “meeting the parents” (although who ever had such an easy sell as my parents who were near to choking with satisfaction at the sight of me with someone I loved). And I find that as lovely and perfect as the three of us were, such a pleasant, harmonious little trio, that dynamic only flourished and was enhanced with my husband’s addition to the piece. Our trio swelled to a quartet, with the addition of a brand new instrument, without ever missing a beat. Mozart himself would have been brought to tears. I’m constantly astounded every time the four of us are together, at how sweet we all are. I always knew I would be drawn to a calm, mature, easy-going man. Never one for drama or touchy mentalities, I have always gravitated to people who are mature and sure enough in themselves that they don’t need to create or respond to melodrama. And sure enough, my husband, as different as he is from me in many ways, is my perfect match in that respect. And so the four of us are just, in a word, sweet.
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And I have a confession to make. I was always leery of parading your mate in front of others as if to say, “Look how well I did for myself,” and I still feel that way, but is it so wrong that I think exactly that of my choice of man? I do! I confess that whenever we’re with friends or family of mine, my chest swells till I think a rib will snap that this man is with me, his hand at my back and his eyes on my face.
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I’ve lost count of how many people have said since we met what a catch he is, how wonderful he is, how handsome he is, how lucky I am, how happy I must be. And I can’t hold back the smile splitting my face as every cell in my body agrees. So it is with a secret delight, when he and I are having breakfast with my parents or playing board games or going to a festival, every single glance he casts my way, every word rumbled into my ear, every unthinking touch, every time I tilt my chin to say something to him or kiss him, my parents nearly bust.
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You see, they have never seen me with a man. Never seen anyone pay me particular mind, seen anyone kiss me. They’ve never heard a man say something under his breath just for me to hear, never witnessed any intimacy of any sort between me and a man. And with the two of them being so happily and deeply in tune for so long, in drastic contrast to the sheer drought of intimacy in my life, they wanted so much for me to experience that. Now I have that. And I absolutely revel in others’ pleasure in seeing me have that. It’s as if there was always a bubble of space around me that was never punctured, never shared, never touched, so much so that everyone else in my life couldn’t even picture me with someone else, as much as they may have wanted to, because they had never known that for me. And now, that space is shared. I’m no longer alone. I fit with them and even though I want him for him, it is much easier to just fit in with everyone else. I’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, running with whatever pack is around that strikes my fancy, and it’s a good think I have developed the self-confidence it takes to go my own way, because I could feel like a freak. But it is much nicer not to have to draw on that store of confidence on a daily basis. It’s all a non-issue now, so that now I can just enjoy what I have. I have finally joined the human race.
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