In my previous post I mentioned that there are many aspects of my life that my German family doesn't know about me and how I suppress a part of my inner me when I am there. This was even the case during this trip, although it was not nearly as bad as I had expected. Perhaps it helped to write about it beforehand and prepare myself for the psychological mayhem which would ensue. Or perhaps I have done just exactly what I expected I would and suppressed my emotions for the past twelve days, thereby not feeling the weight of their judgement upon me (yet). One of the "secret things" about me that I was afraid of revealing was my current dabbling in polygamy. Promptly, on my first evening here, as if I had conjured up the conversation, my father mentioned a movie that he and his wife had just seen about a huge patchwork family with open relationships sprawling right and left. They immediately proceeded to express their opinions on the matter and how unhealthy it is for children and imposed the idea that the lifestyle in question was "wrong." I couldn't pass up the opportunity to be honest and admitted that my partner and I are not perfectly monogamous. My stepmom's facial expression said it all. Lips slightly parted, eyebrows raised, gaze drifting to the left side while inhaling ever so slowly and tilting the chin ever so slightly to the side... My father swallowed his wine as if it had turned to vinegar in the moment that I spoke. Yup. I just straight out said it, explained myself very briefly and then moved on. I didn't go into detail and I think they respected that I had a very different opinion on the matter and some actual experience to back it up. Either way, I could see the questions, judgements, and their obsessive need for order brewing behind their eyes. But they let it rest after 5 minutes of mild discussion and we cleared away the dinner dishes along with that topic. I am so proud of myself for putting down my foot and not letting them talk shit about something that they really don't know the slightest thing about but it was terrifying to do so.
Since then the week has been quite pleasant, and I have tried my hardest to see the very best in this place and all the people that live here. I have tried to minimize my own judgement on their ways. I have tried to accept them for who they are as well, and the fact that their lifestyle and their ideals have an important place in their lives just as mine do in my life. It has been a taxing but rewarding way to spend my time here. There have of course been moments where I have calmed my own temper with deep, steady breaths, or stepped outside for a bit of distance, but they haven't been as frequent as on previous visits here. All in all I have enjoyed my stay and was therefore so very hurt by this evening's happenings.
We sat around the perfectly set garden coffee table at my father's parents' house, eating our strawberry summer cake and sipping strong coffee from fine china. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, it was a delightful late afternoon and we were drifting casually from topic to topic. It had been a long day and I was already quite tired of the facade of being that proper little granddaughter of theirs, so the topic of "homosexuality as an illness" wasn't exactly one I had the energy to tackle. It began with my father mentioning that there had been a gay couple at the restaurant we had eaten dinner at the evening before. Already then I had winced at his act of nodding his head in the direction of the couple and mouthing the word "gay." Yeah, so what? I had shrugged back in response. That was the end of that. But this encounter just had to be mentioned to his parents at the coffee table and they were clearly shocked to hear that "gays" were on the rise in their town. Here we go....there was no steering this conversation to a safer haven, and all I could do was sip my coffee in disgust over the words that followed. My grandmother began attacking gay parenting, and suddenly all participants at the table were heatedly pointing out that children raised by two parents of the same gender would fail in life, that they are not raised properly, that it's wrong and that they are wrong as a result. Then my grandmother threw in a quaint little anecdote about her friend's daughter who unfortunately had given birth to two gay sons and was hoping that her third child would be born "healthy." Yes, she continued to talk about her "poor, poor" friend's daughter, how plagued she is by this terrible illness that her children bear. Just imagine having such ill children..." The bile began to rise in my throat. What horrible people was a dining with? Where in the world was I? And what in their lovely catholic God's name would they do or say if she found out that I was also subject to this so-called illness. I don't identify as completely hetero... does that make me... a plague upon their perfect family, a disease to be eradicated, a dishonor?
What made this situation so difficult was not so much the fact that their opinions are the way they are, or that they stated them in such a blatant manner, but the fact that I reacted silently. I swallowed my hatred, disgust and repulsion and sat their trying to chew the strawberries on my cake with dignity. I argued against their claims that gay parents were bad parents and that the children of such turn out "wrong." I defended the LGBTQ community as such, the friends I have that identify as queer, but I failed to defend myself. Why? Well I guess because I don't even know which of those 5 letters I identify most with, and it's hard to defend uncertainties. I hate myself for my complaisance, but I didn't have the energy to fight a battle that I was sure to lose. Either way, they offended me to a point where I did all in my power to not storm away from the table and make a scene. All I wanted to do was smash their cake into their pruny, judgmental faces, throw their precious china on the stone tiles or yank the tablecloth right off the table.
That's it. I've had my fair share of southern Germany. I have tried so hard to keep it together these past weeks and now I am beyond done with this place. Enough is enough. It's time to go home.
We sat around the perfectly set garden coffee table at my father's parents' house, eating our strawberry summer cake and sipping strong coffee from fine china. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, it was a delightful late afternoon and we were drifting casually from topic to topic. It had been a long day and I was already quite tired of the facade of being that proper little granddaughter of theirs, so the topic of "homosexuality as an illness" wasn't exactly one I had the energy to tackle. It began with my father mentioning that there had been a gay couple at the restaurant we had eaten dinner at the evening before. Already then I had winced at his act of nodding his head in the direction of the couple and mouthing the word "gay." Yeah, so what? I had shrugged back in response. That was the end of that. But this encounter just had to be mentioned to his parents at the coffee table and they were clearly shocked to hear that "gays" were on the rise in their town. Here we go....there was no steering this conversation to a safer haven, and all I could do was sip my coffee in disgust over the words that followed. My grandmother began attacking gay parenting, and suddenly all participants at the table were heatedly pointing out that children raised by two parents of the same gender would fail in life, that they are not raised properly, that it's wrong and that they are wrong as a result. Then my grandmother threw in a quaint little anecdote about her friend's daughter who unfortunately had given birth to two gay sons and was hoping that her third child would be born "healthy." Yes, she continued to talk about her "poor, poor" friend's daughter, how plagued she is by this terrible illness that her children bear. Just imagine having such ill children..." The bile began to rise in my throat. What horrible people was a dining with? Where in the world was I? And what in their lovely catholic God's name would they do or say if she found out that I was also subject to this so-called illness. I don't identify as completely hetero... does that make me... a plague upon their perfect family, a disease to be eradicated, a dishonor?
What made this situation so difficult was not so much the fact that their opinions are the way they are, or that they stated them in such a blatant manner, but the fact that I reacted silently. I swallowed my hatred, disgust and repulsion and sat their trying to chew the strawberries on my cake with dignity. I argued against their claims that gay parents were bad parents and that the children of such turn out "wrong." I defended the LGBTQ community as such, the friends I have that identify as queer, but I failed to defend myself. Why? Well I guess because I don't even know which of those 5 letters I identify most with, and it's hard to defend uncertainties. I hate myself for my complaisance, but I didn't have the energy to fight a battle that I was sure to lose. Either way, they offended me to a point where I did all in my power to not storm away from the table and make a scene. All I wanted to do was smash their cake into their pruny, judgmental faces, throw their precious china on the stone tiles or yank the tablecloth right off the table.
That's it. I've had my fair share of southern Germany. I have tried so hard to keep it together these past weeks and now I am beyond done with this place. Enough is enough. It's time to go home.
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