Sicilians in Oslo

There are, many, many ways for any husband to screw it up.  A foreign husband in China, married into Chinese civilization has his own vast menu of possibilities.  When I attended my father-in-law’s funeral, I tripped over numerous faux pas.  Upon arrival I walked right up to my mother-in-law to offer my condolences.  I stood talking until my wife pointed out that there were no other men on that side of the room.  Men over there, fathead, now.  And so it went. 

Today, my stepson and his wife brought her family to meet us, for the first time.  Marriage rituals, like rituals in death, trace themselves back to the earliest reaches of Chinese civilization.  Invasions and revolutions and breathtakingly fast modernizations have all stretched the connecting threads thin, but regardless people have expectations of what’s supposed to happen between married families that Chinese know implicitly and foreigners like me haven’t a prayer to fathom deeply. 

What makes it even more interesting is my wife is northern gal, from the heart of the Confucian-continuum, Shandong Province.  My stepson’s new in-laws are from Guandong in the south.   I don’t know if the Mississippi family hosted in Boston is the right metaphor, perhaps the Sicilians in Oslo is more like it.  But I know my wife is sifting through her own version of what’s her traditional normal, vs. her modern ‘normal’ and considering what about all this will translate to Cantonese culture.

I have a simple, “yes, honey, you’re right,” strategy to hold as a steel-rail today.  I will try very hard not to tease her, even if she buys silly colored cheeses that no one will eat, or pushes Champaign on to guests who obviously aren’t interested in drinking.  The girls have their marching orders too.  Maximum support for mom.  She’s right, on everything for the duration.  Got it?   They’ll be here at 2:00PM.   I’m going to have some lunch then, before they get here.

Sunday, 5/05/19