Berna Cox writes that ‘meeting the family’ isn’t so bad if you brief your other half about your family’s little idiosyncrasies in advance.
At a recent family celebration, one of the other half’s nephews visiting from the UK brought home a girlfriend. She had met the nephew’s mum, dad and sister before, but this was different.
This poor girl got flung into the middle of big-family madness. She met her boyfriend’s grandparents, four aunts, four uncles, various in-laws and out-laws and about a million cousins.
At one point, somebody turned to the bewildered young woman and sympathised. “God love you,” they said. “You must be at sea in the midst of all these names and faces. If you want advice, just ask Berna.”
‘Meeting the family’ can be a daunting thing. Three decades on, I am still known to my in-laws as ‘the girl from the zoo’. Myself and the other half were, for want of a better phrase, walking out at the time. We didn’t really know each other that long or that well, but we were getting there.
I knew he had a ma and da and brothers and sisters, but I didn’t have to worry about them – they were in Kildare; we were in Donegal.
h4. To the zoo
One weekend, we were both independently in Dublin and we agreed to meet on the Saturday. “Would I like to go to the zoo?” he asked. “Sure why not?” I probably replied. He then went on to tell me that his youngest sister was making her Communion and had nominated the zoo as her venue of choice for the post-Communion celebrations.
We could go along and meet up with them. It would be a nice day out. I wasn’t in the least fazed. I don’t really think the significance of ‘meeting the family’ had hit home. I was only 18.
On the day in question, himself and one of his brothers picked me up from my sister’s house where I was staying for the weekend. The brother seemed to be a grand chap altogether (he still is… even though he’s a right bugger on the telly – he’s the awful, wife-murdering, spiteful, horrible, meanie Daniel in Ros na Rún).
He dropped us off at the zoo and the vague plan was that we’d ramble around until we found the others. There were no mobile phones then to co-ordinate operations. It was a lovely, sunny day and I was enchanted.
h4. Locked-up animals
I’d never been to the zoo before and I thought it was quite lovely. I wasn’t really too impressed with the notion of locked-up animals. (Then again, I don’t suppose I’d have been too thrilled if they were running free, either.) But the grounds were pretty and well kept and it was a nice place to walk around. We strolled along, probably doing a bit of coy hand-holding, and I never gave this ‘meeting the family’ thing a second thought. As we ambled along, I indulged in my hobby of people-watching. I’d look at a little group and decide in my mind what the dynamic was: that group of five with the pushchair is probably a mammy, daddy, auntie and two kids.
Another elderly couple with children in tow… most likely grandparents giving the parents a break. And so on.
Next, I spotted a big group picnicking under a large tree. A coach party, I thought. Some club or society having a day out. I hadn’t the thought thunk when himself pointed at the very same group and announced, “There they are.” Under the large tree. His family. All of them. And a few more besides.
Mother of God. There followed three hours or so of relentless questions and sizing up. Interrogation. Where was I from? When did we meet? How long did I know him? My head was, as we’d say in Donegal, pure deeved.
h4. A powerful force
I came away from the event knowing that I’d met with a powerful force, but wasn’t able to remember names or pecking order. The only ones I could place, for obvious reasons, were the parents and the Holy Communicant. When we went for a calming drink afterwards, he’d say something about Paula, or Helena or Declan or whoever… I’d have to ask, “Which one was she? Was she the one on crutches or the one with the boyfriend?” “Is he the really tall one or the one with the beard?” That sort of thing. It took me years to sort them all out and get the names right.
I didn’t meet any of them again until we got engaged. That was when I really felt the ‘meet the family’ thing. Yes, I’d met them all before but in a social, jokey, context. At least as far as I was concerned. Maybe they were eyeing me up as in-law material even then. This second meeting was different, though. What was I letting myself in for?
I have to say, I’ve been blessed. The ‘girl from the zoo’ was welcomed by one and all. I won’t single anyone out except the mother-in-law. Traditionally, that mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship gets bad press. And sometimes not without cause.
I’ve written about it before and I’m always happy to fly the positive flag. My mother-in-law is a pure dote and I recognise the fact that I’m lucky. But not everyone is so blessed.
In the United Kingdom a few years ago, a 26-year-old woman successfully sued her mother-in-law for bullying. Nottingham County Court awarded her stg£35,000. After four months of marriage, Gina Satvir Singh could take no more of the interfering, controlling mother-in-law.
In her testimony to the court, she recounted horrific tales of being forced to cut her hair; having telephone calls monitored; being restricted from seeing her friends; being forced to complete menial tasks; not being allowed to pursue her religious beliefs, etc.
h4. Harassment Act
Singh and her husband divorced in 2003. She sued under the Protection from Harassment Act, which was introduced in 1997 in the UK to deter stalkers. Ms Singh’s lawyer commented that she was a very brave woman for taking the case to court. There are, he reckoned, many women in similar circumstances who don’t pursue the legal route. So well done, Ms Singh. Stg£35,000 should soften ma-in-law’s cough.
And even with modern relationships, super-confident youngsters and changes in cultural mores, this business of ‘meeting the family’ still seems to cause a nervous flutter.
In bygone days, ‘Dear Frankie’ was the most famous agony aunt we had and she would advise on just about anything from meeting the in-laws to baling silage. There are now online agony aunts and, whereas I doubt they’re not in great demand for the agricultural issues, they’re still asked for advice on meeting the partner’s family.
At www.askapril.com, April Masini dispenses her wisdom and reckons that you shouldn’t bring someone home to meet the family unless you consider that he/she is ‘the one’. That being the case, she recommends that you tell ‘the one’ in advance about all the family skeletons and make a joint plan.
h4. Something outrageous
For instance, if you know Uncle So-and-so is a loose cannon and liable to come out with something outrageous, you apprise ‘the one’ of this foot-in-mouth syndrome and warn them to take nothing personally.
You also need to let them know the idiosyncrasies so that they don’t commit their own gaffes. For instance, if Auntie So-and-so is a recovering alcoholic who would have sucked it out of a dishcloth in years gone by, then a bottle of hooch is hardly a suitable gift.
Back at the family gathering, I took the nephew’s girlfriend to one side and clued her in. Gave her the lowdown on them all. “You’ll be fine,” I told her. “Look at me. I survived the zoo.”
Thirty years on, I think I’ll put it on a badge.
About Gary Culliton
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