Christmas apprehension

[vaneramos]

O'Hare's cottage, Poplar Bluff Beach, December 14.

~~~~~~~~~~

For several years I have avoided spending more than one overnight in a row with my parents. It was safer that way.

We're getting along better these days, and since Mom has recovered from cancer it seemed like a good time for me and my daughters to spend some extended time with them this Christmas. My parents haven't had children around the house on Christmas morning for many years. It will be a big treat for Mom. We're planning to stay from December 22 to 26. I hope it's not a grave mistake.

I have plenty of nostalgia for their place. When Mom and Dad bought the cottage in 1965 we were the first Canadians on Poplar Bluff Beach. We moved there permanently in 1972. By then one other Canadian family lived there. Over the years all the cottagers from Detroit were replaced by permanent residents. The O'Hares are the only American family remaining, and it's the only place that gets closed up in the fall.

Heather O'Hare and I were the same age and played together every summer when we were very small. I used to walk down the gravel road in bare feet every day until my pads were strong. But there were tiny burrs in the grass alongside the road; sometimes I would get them stuck in my sole. Heather and I would play Life or Careers in their guest cabin. Mrs. O'Hare was not like the conservative women in my parents' circle of friends. She wore long mumus that drifted on the breeze and had long salty grey hair. They went on vacation to Japan and brought me back a little wooden monkey with a red silk vest and moveable jointed arms and legs. Heather and I played together until grade two.

After we moved there permanently, it changed the dynamics of beach relationships. I didn't play anymore with the summer cottagers, only with the other children who went to my school. I have only spoken to Heather once in 30 years.

It's hard to find things to talk about with my parents. My mother isn't interested in talking about certain things, in fact she'll change the subject if something makes her uncomfortable. It's easier to avoid those topics, rather than find out with certainty she doesn't want to know about things that matter to me. It's not as easy to avoid topics that make me uncomfortable though. Dad has a habit of picking on things I don't know how to explain to them.

"How did your visit go with the lady?" he asked at dinner on Monday evening.

What lady? I couldn't figure out what he was talking about for a few moments. Finally it dawned on me: they knew that ghostsandrobots had been here for a weekend.

"Okay," I said.

"Did you do anything?"

"Not really. We just visited."

How could I explain we spent most of the weekend sitting on the couch talking about life?

I wanted to scream, "No, Mom and Dad, she's just a good friend! Being gay is not just a phase! So get over it! And by the way, do you know what polyamorous means?"

But I'm not that rude. Meanwhile, they haven't picked up on numerous hints about djjo. Mom isn't ready to know, maybe never will be, and Dad won't probe any topics that make her uncomfortable. We belong to different cultures, and they will probably never understand mine. Am I up to five days and four nights of awkward diplomacy? I need to go with a positive plan for filling the time, rather than sulking about it.