My In-Laws, Or: Do You Smell Something Burning?

Got a Case of Dynamite, I Could Hold Out Here All Night

Anybody out there get along with their in-laws? You always hear the horror stories about men who endure a ration of shit from their wife’s mom, or wives who are always being held to some invisible standard of their husband’s folks. What’s that about, exactly? If your kid grows up, finds someone who makes them happy and can peacefully co-exist with them for an extended period of time, I’d say they have a leg up on the game of life. Why interfere?

I always marvel at the people who get along, at least semi-harmoniously, with their in-laws. I have a friend whose relationship with his wife’s family is as close as if he was born into it naturally. They come down from Canada & it’s chicken ‘n dumplings after church. I will never understand how he accomplishes that if I live to be 110.

My in laws hate me. And by hate, I mean LOATHE. To them, I don’t possess a single redeeming trait, nor will I ever be able to elevate my standing with them even if I won the bazillion-gillion dollar lottery. I’m told this is common with Asian parents whose daughters marry outside their race, and a 50-50 chance of it happening in a marriage INSIDE their race as well.

They hate me because I’m white. That’s not speculation, that’s told-to-my-face-in-annoying-Engrish FACT.

They hate me because I crawled all over their only daughter without the obligatory wedding for the first few years of us living together. They hated what I used to do for a living. They hated the fact that I changed to a better career. They hate that I am trying to do something else entirely now.They hate that I'm an orphan. They hate that we don't want kids.

They hate that I know Kung Fu. They hate that I know it better than most Chinese.

And they hate that I speak Chinese and am tolerant of their customs. What should be a point in my favor only exacerbates their hatred of me. Not only do I order correctly when we go out to Dim Sum, I eat the stuff most round-eye’s would gag at: Stuffed duck’s feet, glutinous rice dumplings, steamed pork dumplings, and enough hot peppers to peel 9 yards of lining off your stomach. If looks could kill, I’d be a goner long ago.

They hate Air Supply. OH MAN, do they hate Air Supply.

My wife Caren decided to move in with me the first year I moved to Seattle from S.C., because it was as far as she could get from her own parents without actually leaving the country. As you can probably imagine, family get-togethers are a rare thing at our house. And painful when they do occur. Although some of that, I have to admit, is my fault. Difficult to believe, I know.

Although we've been married for over 10 years now, Caren's mom still thinks we should sleep in separate beds. Apparently, this is some Chinese custom I have yet to hear about. (I'm starting to suspect that they just make them up on the spot to suit whatever scenario they are in, like fortune cookies.)

Let me pause my tale for a moment to say right here and now: There are some things you should do before you go to your grave, and saying something extraordinarily RUDE to your in laws is one of them.

"We can't sleep apart" I tell her "Unless we fuck like a couple of crazed weasels every night, I get terrible insomnia, then I'm cranky all morning."

They're not in Seattle for a full hour yet, and I say that.

I don't know what a pin sounds like when it hits the floor, but there was enough stunned silence in the car that moment to give it a shot. I had managed to shock Caren's parents into catatonia. The look on her's mothers face alone was oh-so satisfying.

We didn't see them again for several years.

(At this point, I should also add that I didn't see anything remotely resembling a vagina for several weeks.)

Next family visit, and the stakes are raised: Caren's mom, step dad and real father are all going to be under our roof for two weeks. Caren decides this would be a good time to have a sit-down and discuss our strategy. Actually, she wants to tell me what my strategy is going to be: Keep your mouth shut, round-eye. "If you EVER want to have sex again, be civil to mom."

"Honey, don't you mean, 'If I ever want to have sex with YOU again?'"

"No," she responds, cocking an eyebrow at me, "I worded it right the first time." As Caren walks away, she casually tosses her head to one side and says "Think about that."

*SIGH*

Time to find something large enough to hold my ego for a few weeks. Nothing comes immediately to mind.

“So, I hear you’re writing a book now?” That would be Caren’s step father, Chufai.

“Yeah Chu, I’ve been working on my writing skills for the past couple of years now and I think I’m close to getting something out by the end of this year.”

“What are you writing?”

Yay! They want to know about what I’m doing! They finally accept me! “Well, I’ve got a popular blog that has been gaining a steady following for the past three years, and dozens of articles online in different forums about the technical aspects of martial arts. My youtube site gets thousands of hits, and I'm getting a good reputation among martial artists all over the world. Lately I’ve been writing short stories and posting them online, and I have a few professional authors who are mentoring me along as well. Things look good.”

“Yes, but what happened to the computer job? Why are you no longer doing that?” See, at this point I’m sensing a trap, but I can’t stop myself:

“Well, I still do Network Administration, as I assume that’s what you meant, but I’m getting tired of the demands that vocation makes of me. After a decade of fixing everyone else's computers, I want to do something that I feel has value. I need to devote several hours a day to writing if I’m going to be any good at it.”

“We all have to make sacrifices in our lives, Bobbe. You can’t make a living by doing nothing.”

“I agree, that’s why I’m writing.”

“And who’s paying you? How much do you charge to write on your blog? What was your net profit after you published those so-many articles on martial arts?” Then he pauses for a second, and adds "What's a youchoob?"

“Well, I was…I mean…Okay, you see-“ I can only sputter incoherently as Caren’s mother, who has been looking on with disdain suddenly scowls as if she’s discovered a dead rat under the pot roast. I wonder if this is how the captain of the Titanic felt when he saw the last lifeboat wafting away from his doomed ship?

And you people wonder why I consume so much Chimay.