My parents divorced when I was eight years old. Neither one of them ever said an unkind word about the other. After I reached college, my mother occasionally said something, but it didn't amount to much. My father remained silent on the subject of my mother all the way to his death at the age of 94. Mother died two years prior to that, but Daddy still held his tongue.
My in-laws were not quite so polite. Upon meeting me for the first time, my mother-in-law turned to my husband and remarked, "I don't think her teeth are that bad." My husband helpfully repeated that to me, which should have given me some insight into what to expect, but alas, I still expected people to behave. They didn't.
In our first gathering of his family, I listened intently as his mother, stepfather, sisters, and brother excitedly shared their various strategies for achieving a great tan that summer. It was October. There was talk of iodine mixed with baby oil, butter, various tanning oils, and other ideas. Then there was a pause and they all looked at me.
My paternal grandmother lived for 99 years and studiously avoided the sun. Even late in her life when she and Granddaddy took up golf, she wore a tea length day dress, long gloves, stockings, and a huge, brimmed hat. Her skin was like rare porcelain. Needless to say, "tanning" was not really important to me.
But I felt the weight of expectation as my in-laws all stared at my untanned skin. I thought I would make a joke to lighten the mood. I said, "You're probably wondering how I achieve this specific shade of pale. I slather my entire body with mayonnaise, then sit in a dark closet all summer long."
NOBODY even cracked a smile. We just all sat there awkwardly. I thought I was making fun of myself. They clearly thought I was making fun of them. Maybe I was.
A few minutes later, someone asked me what I did for a living. I explained that I worked in a mental health clinic. My clients were long-term mentally ill patients and alcohol & drug patients. There was another long pause while everyone stared at me. It was only later that I found out my husband's two sisters were crack addicts, and that his brother was an alcoholic. And just to make things as awful as they possibly could be, my new mother-in-law was also an alcoholic. She had been married five times to five different alcoholics.
On our next visit, I was six months pregnant with our son. My mother-in-law offered me a glass of wine. I gestured to my belly and shook my head. She replied, "Oh, Honey, I smoked and drank through all five of my pregnancies and it didn't hurt my children at all."
Well, I suppose I should count it as a miracle that the marriage lasted three years. How did it end, you ask? My husband joined a bowling league. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol up until then. Suddenly, he started coming home every Wednesday night drunk as a skunk. He was an amorous drunk, so I took to barricading myself and the baby in a bedroom on Wednesday nights.
After multiple repeats, I talked him into going to marriage counseling. Over time, he agreed to go to an outpatient men's group that was for men trying to work out if they had an addiction problem. But before the first meeting, he went home to visit his family. His mother told him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him and that I was a lunatic. When he came home, he announced that he would not be going to those meetings and that he would not be returning to counseling.
I put it to him plainly. I said that he needed to choose which was more important - alcohol or his wife and son. He chose alcohol and moved out. No doubt his mother was very pleased.
During our divorce proceedings, my brother-in-law called me to let me know that they were all prepared to lie in court to make sure his brother got custody of our son, unless I agreed to a minimal child support payment. I agreed to what his lawyer proposed - the absolute minimum child support payment in our state at that time. And throughout my son's childhood, I never asked for an increase. And following my parents' example, I never spoke one unkind word about my ex-husband to my son until he was a grown man. Again, his father and my in-laws were never quite as kind.
I can say, without reservation, that my son is the best thing that ever happened to me. What I went through to get him and keep him was worth it. I'll always think so.
