Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner: Meeting The In-Laws

My husband and I have always been comfortable being in an interracial relationship. But there was still the question of how our families would feel about it. I wasn’t too concerned about my family, since this was certainly not a new thing. But this kind of intermingling was not a common thing with my husband’s family and I had reservations. I did not want my daughter and I to have to deal with racism from people who would potentially become a part of our extended family. But I also hoped they wouldn’t be of the “I tolerate all races” variety either. Who wants to be tolerated? Practicing tolerance is not as great as it sounds. You tolerate a yapping chihuahua or your annoying co-worker. I don’t need my blackness to be tolerated.

Not knowing what to expect, I began to wonder how his family would feel about our relationship. I went to my then boyfriend with my concerns. I wasn’t some passing fling that would be gone in a week. I could become a permanent part of his life. He told me not to worry. He anticipated that they would treat me kindly. But I wanted to know how they would feel about it. Most people can at least pretend to be ok when you’re in the room, but I needed to know what the real, behind the scenes reactions would be.

“I’ve never known my mother or brothers to have a dislike of black people or to be racist,” he said. “But your mom may be fine with black people in general, but what about for a potential daughter-in-law? And she may even be ok with that, but sometimes the thought of biracial grandchildren is just too much for some people. Or what if she’s an undercover racist and this sends her off the deep end?”

He seemed amused at my nervousness. “I think my mom should be fine. And even if she’s not, she’ll at least pretend to be,” he said with a big grin. “Besides, if anything she may be more bothered by you being divorced and having a kid than by your ethnicity.” Did he just tell me I have too much baggage? “Wow…you are not helping,” I responded dryly. He was getting a huge kick out of seeing me sweat.

That evening, he was going out to dinner with his family. “You want to come? We can get it out of the way and meet them tonight,” he said. “Have you told them about me?” I asked. “Yes, but I don’t usually talk about the people I’m dating to my family that much.” We had only been dating for a few weeks and everything seemed to be moving a little too fast for me. “I don’t think I’m ready for all that,” I replied. “I don’t even know where this is going yet.” He gave me a look like “girl, please!”

In the short time we’d been together, we both had a pretty good idea of where it was going. But he hadn’t really come out and said it to me. Little did I know that he had already told one of his friends that he had found “the one” after our first meeting. And little did he know that I had already fallen pretty hard for him.

“Well you’re going to have to meet them one of these days,” he said. “I know. But have you even told them that I’m black yet?” I queried. “Uh, I’m not sure. I might have.” “How do you not remember telling them something like that?” I exclaimed. I had a suspicion that he most likely had not shared this information with them. “It would be entertaining to see the the looks on their faces when you walk in. We could get their real, unprepared reactions!” he said a little too gleefully.

I had no desire to go for shock value and was getting annoyed. “I am not going to play the Sidney Poitier role in a Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner reenactment!” I told him. We both laughed and he finally got serious. He looked at me and said that it didn’t matter if they accepted me or not. Who he chose to date, love or marry was his business and it wouldn’t change anything, even if they didn’t like it. But still, I knew it would have to bother him if it became an issue.

This was all new to me. I had just recently begun to date outside of my race. I just didn’t want to deal with the issues that might come with being in an interracial relationship. We are not as advanced as a society as we may like to think. Or the complexities of raising biracial children who might be confused about their identity. And it just seemed easier and more ideal to be a part of a successful black marriage. I knew all about the stereotypes of broken black families with the strong single mother and absentee father. I wanted to be the opposite of that stereotype. My black prince would one day come along!

But he didn’t come. My plan wasn’t working out. I wasn’t finding what I was looking for and I began to feel that I was limiting my dating options unnecessarily.  And I certainly wasn’t going to settle down with someone just because he was a “brother.” I had to let go of my fantasy and enter reality. A good man is hard to find as it is. It’s even harder if you are eliminating good people for less than valid reasons.

Besides, what was I worried about? Mixing cultures? I don’t even really know what “black culture” is. I didn’t grow up in a family that wore dashikis and afros with a picture of “Black Jesus” on the wall. Though I’m now convinced that the Santa we put out on the lawn every Christmas when I was a kid was actually black. I always thought one of the light bulbs inside of it had blown out or something. But I look back now and I am totally convinced that Santa was definitely brown on purpose.

We didn’t listen to R&B music, the Blues, Motown. None of that. You know what we listened to? Southern Gospel. No, not black Southern Gospel. Old white man, barbershop quartet Southern Gospel. It was horrifying to have any classmates or friends in the car with me and know that this is what my mom was listening to. I still get the shivers just thinking about it.

However, we did enjoy watching “black” tv shows like Good Times and Sanford and Son. Though I’m embarrassed to admit that I loved my Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights before I went to bed. And we didn’t eat much soul food because my mom had high blood pressure and said that all that lard was bad for us anyway.

We celebrated Christmas just like anyone else. I have never celebrated Kwanza and didn’t even know what it really was until much later in life when I was a librarian. Everyone who came in during that time of year thought I was the resident expert, so I decided to figure out what the meaning of it was so I didn’t look so clueless. Truth be told, there has been nothing I’ve had to adjust to since being married to my husband and our “cultures” have certainly never clashed.

The next time my husband brought up meeting his family was Easter. But I was not meeting his family for the first time at a holiday dinner! That is a nightmare for an introvert. But I knew that the time had come, so I agreed to do it after the holiday.

The evening I met his family, it was raining pretty hard and I was soaked when I came into the restaurant. Not the first impression I wanted to make. Everyone was there. His mom, brothers, their wives and significant others. His father and his stepmother. I took a deep breath and walked in, still not convinced that they had been told what to expect.

They all greeted me with smiles and no one seemed surprised. His mother was very friendly as we sat down to eat. She asked me about myself and she at least seemed to be comfortable with the situation. It went like a typical “first meeting” would go. We ate, we chatted, and at times I got to sink into the background as they conversed with each other (just like I like it). I left thinking “that wasn’t so bad.”

It only got better after the first introductions. My husband’s family has really welcomed not only me but my daughter into the family as well. Surprisingly, my mother-in-law has even turned into a fill-in mother to me. And she couldn’t be a more doting grandmother to all of my children, even the one that isn’t biologically hers.

You can’t control the world’s reactions, but I’m glad I’ve never felt like an unwelcome guest amongst my in-laws. I felt more like the awkward introvert getting to know a bunch of new people. I may not have the successful “black” family that I once thought was so important. But I have something even better. A loving and happy family. An extended family that we can interact with without tension or stress based on things as silly as the color of our skin. And at the end of the day, I couldn’t ask for a more successful family than that!