8 Million Stories: The Parent Trap

I will not be going home for Easter this year. Nor will I be joining my extended family for the festivities. There is a very good reason I moved out and far away: My family is weird.

Last November, I brought my boyfriend out to New Jersey to meet my father’s side of the family. My father is one of 12 children born to a Sicilian Catholic father and a German Jewish mother. As an Odessaborn, Brooklyn-raised, Russian Jewish immigrant, Alex didn’t stand a chance. Dad’s siblings sport a wide array of quirks ranging from schizophrenia to borderline personality to mild social awkwardness.

Typically a visit is the kiss of death to relationships but Alex was a real sport, thank God (whichever one you’d like).

Alex decided he wanted to prepare a dish to share with my family. Normally my contribution to the festivities is a bottle of alcohol that I consume to deal with the weirdness. He chose deviled eggs, which my grandmother proclaimed to be my grandfather’s favorite. As is tradition in his family, Alex had decorated his dish with a garnish, a turkey fashioned out of a tomato and a bell pepper. I thought it was peculiar but in light of where we were headed, I went with it.

Upon our arrival, Alex presented his dish to my Uncle Joe, the host of the gathering. Joe, glancing at the creation in amazement, excitedly asked, “Are you guys high?” Neither one of us responded, only stared back at him mouths agape.

Marijuana is a favorite pastime of my father’s younger siblings, and they think talking about it makes them cool.The youngest of my aunts loves to recount how my father gave her a special-edition coin for her wedding and a year later found he had stashed two joints inside the case as an additional gift.

Alex does not take drugs. He is a Type- A, hyper-logical thinker and can’t understand why anyone would participate in such a harmful pastime. He is an avid soccer player and great athlete. He came to America at the age of 6 with his mother, father and older brother. His father left and his mother struggled to raise them on her small salary as a seamstress. His exposure to overly American oddness has been limited. He was about to be caught up for a lifetime in one fell swoop.

Once inside, my extended milled about and snacked on hors d´oeuvres. “What’s your deal?” asked one of my uncles. Alex respectfully replied that he was an architect. Joe slapped him on the back and said, “Relax man, we’re just messing with you.” Alex blinked hard twice, glancing at me; I laughed and pulled him into the kitchen and told him to drink a beer.

Then Joe announced that the meal was beginning. I sat across from Alex in the crooked seam of the two tables fitting together. My plate balanced precariously, Alex was talking and joking with everyone. I warmed watching him bring joy to my bizarre family. Unlike those who came before him, he wanted to help and be a part of the action. He brought my grandmother more wine, and any time anyone lifted a hand, he jumped to help out.

Dinner passed with very little awkwardness. An uncle made a reference to “boning” his wife and Alex flushed with embarrassment at the mention of sex. His conservative Jewish upbringing fully apparent, I merely laughed it off and told my uncle to behave. It could have been much worse; I brought another guy home the year before and my Uncle Reigh had tossed a Ziploc bag of spaghetti and meatballs in front of a very pregnant cousin of mine, declaring that this was precisely what “it” looked like inside of her stomach.

Grandma decided that we should enjoy Alex’s eggs with our feast, so Alex jumped up and ran around the table seating close to 20 of us, proudly displaying his turkey. My cousin Tim broke the silence by lauding Alex’s creativity “for the kids” and handed the turkey to his infant son. Alex unabashedly received the compliment and picked up the baby. Everyone looked at me, flashing the “You’ve found a keeper” smile.

Marijuana is a favorite pastime of my father’s younger siblings, and they think talking about it makes them cool.

As the meal wound down, Alex cleared the table and helped Debbie with the dishes.We made it through the rest of the evening with the only issue being when Joe grabbed Alex’s ass—twice.

I don’t remember the train ride home, but I do recall that for the first time my grandmother reached out and thanked me for bringing such a nice boy and invited him back, anytime.

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