I was listening to a song on YouTube the other day, a bluegrass parody used to demonstrate the rather difficult notions of genetics and how they can be used to confuse family ties. The song was essentially about a guy who marries a widow and his father marries her daughter.
The father and his wife have a child and the child is brother to the guy, but also a grandson of his father as the first son is married to the mother of the daughter who's father... um, forget it, it is funny - if you look it up on YouTube. "I am my own grandpa!" is in the chorus, but what the song is and who it is by I have no idea. What is amazing is though it could be true, well almost - it is pretty similar to how my life is working right now.
OK, I am a typically horny 18-yr old and life sometimes has a way of working things out like we never meant them to be or expected them. My story started three years ago when my mother died of cancer. I was devastated. I was nearly 16, and hurt that she would abandon me, angry that she was gone and worse, angry at myself for not being able to help her. I know that does not sound reasonable or rational, but we are talking about a 15 year old kid who was grieving and had no way of getting that grief out.
My father was just as hurt as I was but we were unable to console each other - or rather, he was unable to console me. I was angry at him too, for failing mom, for not doing better but most of all, not recognizing I was seriously hurting. In short, I did not make it easy for him, or for anyone else for that matter. Our relationship just went downhill and did not get any better.
I lost my position on the school baseball team, my cheerleader girlfriend was no longer interested in a has-been, my grades were spiraling down, I was angry at the world. The school counselors did not help, just sat around shaking their heads and pitying the poor boy who lost his mother. Well, to be fair, I did not help them at all - I refused to recognize I even had a problem.
After more than two years, Dad told me he had met this woman, a lovely woman, generous, loving and a widow. This was, for me, such a betrayal of mom, I hated her before meeting her. I was just 18 when this happened and I was as obnoxious as only a 5-year-old can be. I was determined to hate her, determined not to abandon mom. He told me he had been going out with her for about 3 months, which explained a lot of late nights and other things.
Then he said in a really quiet voice, "I am asking you to come with me and meet her." I was outraged and let him know that I was not about to go and meet some woman he was having an affair with, "What would mom think?". It did not seem to faze him at all. He waited a bit, until I had finished, then quietly, almost gently, "She said when I was ready, go and find someone else."
"Bullshit! Mom would never have said anything of the kind!"
He ignored the language and simply replied, "She did, four days before she died. She told me she loved me and that we, and she included you, should not be grieving for her; to get on with our lives. I am, and now it is your turn. Time to go out and meet the world." I was absolutely flabbergasted. "We have been invited to dinner at Brenda's, with her daughter, tomorrow evening."
"No, not a chance."
"Yes, you will. Not for me but to honor your mother's wishes."
"What do you care about her?" I cried.
The look in my father's eye then really shocked me. He has never raised a hand to me, not once, and the look he had on his face at that point, I thought he was going to hit me. He didn't. Even in my anger I could tell I really hurt him with that one. He was very controlled in his reply, "There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of your mother. I miss her so deeply, and will always miss her. She was my wife, my friend, my partner. One day, if you are very, very lucky, I hope you will find someone like I was lucky enough to. Dinner is at eight, neat, casual."
He turned and went towards the door. I had nothing to say, but it was obvious that I had finally gone too far. He turned back and said, "Oh, Brenda is not your mother, she never will be. She is a lovely person in her own right and her daughter is a very well-mannered young lady. I expect you will be polite, if nothing else. You may find them a little different, or even unconventional, but you will respect their right to be themselves."
School was a misery, as had become the norm, the day passed and evening came. Dad basically had to order me to prepare, and eventually we left. Driving to the other side of town is not a big exercise, traffic was light and the moment I was now dreading was at hand. We met and I must admit, Dad was right about Brenda being lovely. I was not going to be obnoxious by action, rather by sullen inaction. I was welcomed and she asked why had Dad not told her that he had such a handsome son. I was barely listening though, as at that moment it was Grace that really caught my attention.
Grace is Brenda's daughter, same age as me. She is blonde and has a wide, generous mouth coupled with an incredibly nice rack. To suggest she is beautiful does not really do her justice. Far from being a tortuous evening, it was actually nice to be sitting down with company and just talking trivia. Brenda seemed to be engrossed in what I was saying and although Grace did not say much, she was watching me, I could feel her eyes on me and there was something a little unsettling about being looked at by a beautiful girl. Dad was sitting back and not saying much either, and in talking to Brenda, even though it was just noise, it seemed like I was important.
Both Brenda and Grace would leave the table and return with warm dishes of this excellent food. Not one dish was very large, some were little more than nibbles, and we seemed to be getting later and later. At one point in the evening, a look passed between Brenda and Dad, and Brenda glanced at Grace.
I just caught Grace at the corner of my eye and then only because she gave a tiny nod; Dad seemed to relax a bit more. Dad allowed me a little white wine, then some red, as Grace had some, but I was not sure if I liked it or not. The white was slightly tarty and the red was funny tasting, but Grace assured me that they were really nice wines. The white was from Australia, and the red from California, she said. I didn't mind the white, but the red was not really to my taste, so perhaps wines are an acquired taste.
Finally a small dish of something that was declared to be a dessert of some type. I was told, but I wasn't really paying attention, it too was really nice. The wines and the food and being listened to is a powerful combination and I had to admit that it was actually nice just being allowed to talk. I could feel I was being played a bit, but I think both Grace and Brenda were just trying to be nice, and make this a pleasant experience for me and Dad. Then Brenda said, "Time to clean the table, gentlemen. If you would care to go to the lounge, Grace and I won't be long."
Grace immediately responded with, "Oh no, Mom, that was such a wonderful meal, you and Frank go and relax, Brad and I can put dishes into the dishwasher."
"Very kind of you Grace," Dad said, "Brad won't mind a bit." He looked at me, meaningfully.
"No, I don't mind at all." And I really didn't. Dad and Brenda disappeared through the door into the lounge and Grace and I started clearing away dishes. I followed her into this small but well appointed kitchen, and added used dishes to the pile that was there.
It looked like saucepans and other pots and pans had already been done, I could not see them. "I'll empty the dishwasher and we can stack these to get it started," Grace said. She pulled out a drawer and it was filled with glistening cooking implements.
"I'll bring in the rest of the dishes and clear the table," I said. I was back in a few moments and Grace had already started stacking dishes. I rinsed a few and handed them to her.
"Well, that was a lovely meal," I said.
"Yep, sure was," Grace replied, "Mom's a chef actually, I did the consumé day before yesterday and the dessert yesterday, she did the rest this evening."
