It’s hard for me to be candid about my extended family members. Overall, I’ve been undeniably lucky, and I’m grateful for what went well during my development. But I must also address what did not go well, and why it’s relevant to The State Of Things today.
My father’s parents are well-meaning and generally pleasant, even if they can’t make small talk to save their lives. My grandpa in particular is a character whom I have avoided psychoanalyzing or discussing in-person with others, because I’ve chalked up all of his “bad” traits to his being a devout Free Methodist Christian and left it at that. However, today I’d like to try understanding him better using a little reverse chronology.
Grievance #1
Starting with the present day: What exactly has he done “wrong” in recent memory? I admit I was upset that he and my grandma didn’t come to see an important play I was in last year, but did go to my sister’s nostalgia-grab musical about the ‘60s.
In his defense, I told my dad that they really wouldn’t like my show. It was graphic, and contained overt sexual and violent content, and I was portraying a man — two men, actually. Would attending my play change their minds about sexism and patriarchy, and everything else the play boldly addresses? Probably not. But I held out hope, despite all the proverbial road signs warning me of the dead end ahead.
When I went to see my sister’s musical, I asked my grandpa what he thought about it, as he had already attended the previous two nights. “It reminds us of the good ol’ days,” he said, nudging my grandma’s arm lovingly. I was suddenly very aware of the new tattoo that I had meant, but forgotten, to cover. And I was aware that time was officially running out to convince them to care about me as a person, not just as their grandkid.
Grievance #2
My next grievance comes from 2019, when I decided to major in acting. I already knew the risk I was taking by solidifying my decision to that side of the family; the entire afternoon, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. Of course, the classic question that plagues every young artist was inevitably asked: “Do you have a backup plan?”
I said that I was prepared to wait tables or figure out other side gigs, but that I believed I could make it as an actor.
“Okay… You probably won’t make much money, you know that?”
“I know,” I replied.
As I hastily wrapped up the conversation with whatever semi-confident placations I could muster, I felt my heart punching at my sternum, or maybe I felt it breaking, or maybe I just had palpitations from the coffee I drank earlier that day. Who can say?
In his defense, my grandpa is a retired dentist. He’s staunchly middle class, and he has worked hard in analytical and physical jobs. Creativity doesn’t come as naturally to him as it does to his wife. If he sings in his booming baritone, it’s probably a song of worship. If he watches TV, it’s probably sports coverage, “Duck Dynasty,” or Fox News. In short: he knows teeth, not talent.
And, perhaps proving his point, backup plans are looking more attractive to me, following the 2024 election. It’s true: I care more about survival than success at this point. And I’d like to think that’s what he cares more about too. It’s why he asked me how I planned on making “real” money on that uncomfortable day in 2019.
Grievance #3
Further into the past now. The grievance that stings the most happened to me indirectly. On a museum trip in 2016, my mom came out to my dad’s parents. I was told to watch over my sisters in a separate area, away from the grownups’ conversation. I didn’t hear it myself, but my mom’s report was that my grandpa responded to the news with another classic line: “I don’t have a problem with you being gay; I just don’t want you to act upon it.”
Of course, I was disappointed, but had already expected such a response from that side of the family. After that day, my mom was no longer explicitly welcome to visit, no longer genuinely considered part of the family. This interaction confirmed to me that I would face similar judgment were I to tell them about my own potential queerness. I became a lot less vocal around them because of this and embarked on a path of avoidance — one I still tread years later.
I can’t truly defend my grandpa here like I could for the other grievances. My grandparents shunned and hurt my mom, the person I am closest to on this planet, without giving the situation a second thought. I lost a lot of faith in him after he verbally declared his bigotry like that, showing he cared more about upholding an incorrect and oppressive ideology than supporting the vulnerable, just-yesterday-adored human being in front of him.
(He and other intelligent people like him are great at shrouding their beliefs in plausible deniability. I was already waking up to this at 14-ish years old, and years of hindsight have reaffirmed their consistent “wink wink, nudge nudge” approach to politicized topics. It’s not surprising to me, though, that bigots have preferred in recent years to say the quiet parts out loud. Their fearless leader of the next four years is the Patron Fucking Saint of Yapping.)
What do I understand?
My grandfather is not a monster. He’s young at heart, involved in his community, and has some of the most iconic catchphrases, one of which I enjoy echoing occasionally: “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.” He chooses to be goofy because it makes him happy, and because he recognizes the value of lightheartedness at family gatherings.
My grandfather is a Baby Boomer. He married young and built the house he and my grandmother still live in. They had two children, my aunt and my dad. They are pretty much a textbook nuclear family.
Nor are they perfect, as no family is (except maybe the Addams Family).
They value tradition and conservative ideals — not bad things on their own, until they’re put into practice by bigots. Am I a hypocrite for claiming it’s okay for them to identify with those ideals, but that I don’t want them to “act upon it?” The difference, I feel, is that their ideals have become pathetic excuses to justify dangerous policy, actively harming people in this country and abroad — specifically, anyone who doesn’t fit what a handful of old (and dead), rich, white men enforced as the norm.
But times have changed. He, and that whole side of the family, refuses to change with them. There is no more “good ol’ days” anymore; not in the way my grandpa meant it.
For him to be stuck in patterns of regressive thinking just because that’s what he was raised to believe in? That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.
Where do I go from here?
I won’t excuse him. He’s representative of the kind of world that would criminalize me for not wanting to make use of my uterus; the kind of world that would push me into the closet because it makes the family look better; the kind of world that would forbid me from making any choices that go against “God’s word.”
But he makes up 25% of my genetics. His story informs mine, and I do myself a disservice by not trying to make sense of my lineage. I hope the story I tell is at least 25% cooler, and 100% led with love.
It’s his name, after all, that means “The Lovers.” If he won’t fully live up to his inherited name, someone has to.