Ruminations on Family
So it’s been several days since returning from a week with the grandparents on the beach. Overall it was relatively enjoyable, with only sporadic bouts of boredom. I had fun watching the World Cup with my grandfather at first, but by the time the U.S. vs Slovenia match rolled around, I had to come to an unsettling realization.
My grandfather is blatantly racist.
Perhaps “realization” is not entirely accurate. I’ve always known him to have strong opinions, and that these opinions were not always the most charitable nor the most understanding. But this was one of the first summers where he was completely blunt about it. His comments ranged from how the “black referees were out to get the US” during the matches, or how the Muslims were taking over the country in terms of education and population and all the Caucasians were getting screwed. He even went so far as to call Obama a Muslim communist, and that I was a communist for supporting him. I called him out on it several times, but it didn’t really dissuade him. His opinions were echoed (but in a much milder form) by my grandmother. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at his stand on things, considering that he’s a hardcore Catholic Republican with a god-complex after being Chief of Staff at several notable hospitals, but still. He’s intelligent, dammit. But he’s also getting up there in age, and set in his ways.
I’ve also noticed another disturbing tendency in our family. None of the other younger, supposedly more enlightened uncles and aunts will call them out on it either (except for some, and only some, who married into the family), either from being in agreement or for wanting to keep the peace.
I’m hoping it’s the latter.
The only other adult there who seemed to be as Oh-God-tell-me-he-didn’t-just-say-that was my gay uncle, who came down for a few days, much to my delight. Gay Uncle holds a special place in my heart among the parts alloted for the multitudes of aunts and uncles I have in this family. He’s always been the one who never treated me as just the quiet bookish kid who’s vastly different from her sociable and fashionable cousins (I say this with the utmost fondness for said cousins). Instead he’d actually sit and talk to me, about real topics, and if I had complex questions, he wouldn’t brush them off with platitudes or empty conversation enders like “You’ll understand when you’re older.” It’s always a delight to get to hang out with him (preferably out of earshot of the grandparents) and just chat about things. While I love all of my family, he is one of the few with whom I feel a true kinship with (and I don’t just mean the gay part). Family is family, but sometimes other bonds are closer.
The time with him this summer was especially good though, since I came out to him about being bisexual. I have to admit, I was imagining making a grand gesture in the heavens would part, rainbow-clad cherubs would play Diana Ross’ “I’m Coming Out” and we would clasp each other in tear-filled hugs.
Hah, no.
It was rather anti-climatic in the end, with my mentioning girlfriends to him in passing and business went on as usual. He did, however, take me out to show me the “gay” area of town, happily within walking distance and containing a gay bookstore that I’ll be visiting again in the future. I also have standing plans with him to visit a restaurant with my mom and little brother in tow called Blue Moon, which is supposed to have good food as well as comedy skit shows hosted by well-reputed drag queens. Squeee. I can’t wait to see the reactions on my little brother’s face. His torment is my happiness.
On a unrelated note: Jason, Edwin, we are doing Otakon this summer, right?