Tips On Meeting My Mother's Kids

Dear Lieutenant Tan-

I thought I was fully prepared to meet you.  I knew that you wouldn’t be like our dad, you wouldn’t love us, you hardly know our mom and you’d all but moved in and taken over.  But I guess I thought you’d understand it was a tough situation and you’d do your best to demonstrate how much you were NOT interfering with our mom’s relationships.  You certainly failed at that.  Nevertheless, I can acknowledge that meeting someone’s kids is tricky.  And  since my little sister is coming home to meet you this weekend, you get a second chance.  Here are some pointers:

1.     Learn the script.  You are supposed to feign interest in your girlfriend’s kids, at least at the beginning.  So, when my mom asks me to tell you about my job, you’re supposed to listen.  Then, to show interest in what I’m saying, you’re supposed to ask a follow-up question about me or my job.  You are not supposed to  interrupt me to ask my mom if she received your e-mail forward about the anarchist’s cookbook.  You are not supposed to cut me off and exclude me from the dinner conversation my mom was purposely trying to include me in.  If you’d read the script, you’d have known that, Lieutenant Tan. 

2.    Get real.  Any man over six feet tall should not drive a Mazda Miata.  You are too big for that kind of car and every time you fold yourself inside, I think of a giraffe bending over to take a sip of water.  You are not a giraffe.  You are a grown man.  And you look like a fool cramming your oversized self into a miniature car.  So, ditch the silly sports car and get something with a backseat.  Make room for my siblings and me—we’re a package deal.

3.     Avoid landmines.  Jokes about breaking in and stealing my little brother’s cat are not funny.  It’s nice that you like the cat, but quit making jokes about stealing it.  My little brother got robbed of damn near everything in my parent’s divorce and all he has is his cat.  If you paid any attention to my little brother, you’d know how much he loves that cat.  But since you don’t pay attention, you’re going to have to trust me on this one:  leave the cat alone.

4.     Be generous.  Sending my mom a free online e-card for her birthday is not impressive.  It would be better to go to Target and spring for a $4 Hallmark greeting card like a normal person.  I know $4 cards are a rip-off, but our mom is worth it.

5.     Listen.  It’s rude to interrupt another person when they are talking.  Especially if that person is me.  I tried not to take it personally, but then I heard you interrupt my mom as well and I wanted to gouge your eyes out.  Or stuff a dirty sock in your mouth.  Maybe both.  (Lest there be any confusion, please note that shouting out the make and model of a military aircraft flying overhead is not a justifiable excuse to interrupt or talk over anyone in my family.) 

6.    Don’t compete.  When mom told you that I was going to New Orleans next week, you’re supposed to say, “Wow, what a great trip!” or “I’ve always wanted to go there.”  You are not supposed to say, “Well, I’ve been to Toronto.”  We’re not competing about who is cooler.  (But if we were, I would win.)

7.     Spit out your gum.  Lieutenant Tan, I’m sure you can’t help it that you are a LOUD gum chewer.  But my brother (who has a 30% hearing loss in each ear) can hear you smacking bubble gum all over the house.  And it’s highly irritating.  Swallow it, spit it out, flush it, or make a sculpture out of it.  I don’t care what you do with your chewed gum, but for God’s sake, take it out of your mouth.

8.     Know when to make yourself scarce.  You’ve been around for 31 days.  I’ve been around for 31 years.  Its polite and reasonable and courteous to allow someone to visit with their out-of-town guest privately on the last day of their trip.  You should have had the wherewithal to know that I’d want to spend my last morning home with my mom.  Without you.  If you didn’t know, you should have asked.

9.     Drive responsibly.  When you run over a curb and hit a fence in my mother’s car, it is appropriate to stop and inspect the car for damage and then to apologize profusely.  It is not appropriate to shout out, “No guts, no glory!” and continue driving full speed ahead.

10. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  You have a GPS and an iPhone and you are a grown adult.  If you can’t find Papa Murphy’s, you should call Papa Murphy’s.  You should NOT call my mom and ask her to call Papa Murphy’s to get their exact street address so that she can call you back and you can put the address in your GPS and wait to see if it can find the Papa Murphy’s so that you can find the Papa Murphy’s so that you can bring pizza over even though we just ate breakfast and we aren’t hungry.  My mom and I live in different cities.  And if you’re badgering her with phone calls and texts every time she’s away from you, it makes the time we do spend together impossibly frustrating.  You can get lost and hound my mother with phone calls and texts any day of the week.  But when I’m in town, maybe you could respect me enough to exercise a little more discretion? Please, Lieutenant Tan, this is important to me.

I don’t know when I’ll visit next, but let’s not do this again.  I’m a good kid and I deserved better. 

In the meantime, please make more of an effort when you meet my little sister.  She’s the most open-minded of our bunch and if you can’t win her over, you may as well pack up and go home.  I’ll help you move.

Sincerely,

SEE

On Going Home

Dear Airline Industry-

I’m flying “home” to meet my now-divorced mom’s boyfriend/fiancé and I’m a nervous wreck.  I’ve looked all over the internet for tips on how children should approach meeting a parent’s new significant other.  So far, all I can find is an episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and how-to guides for parents on making sure introductions go smoothly.  (For the record, my mom has already broken all the rules.) Since the internet has failed me and I can’t track down any armchair psychology that will make me think I have the tools to handle this, I need you to help.

I recognize that for many lucky individuals, going home is a treat.  I used to be one of them.  But when your parents are acting out in ways that make you hope you were switched at birth, there is absolutely no feeling at home about going “home.”  You recognize that your home doesn’t exist anymore, and that’s downright depressing.  Then you realize you’ll have to pretend you’re happy that your mom and her new boyfriend are happy . . . even though it means your life will never be the same and you’re decidedly unhappy about that.  And that makes you apprehensive and anxious, because what if you’re not up to the task?  For anyone has to travel “home” under these (or other) profoundly unpleasant circumstances, I don’t think it’s outrageous to expect the airline industry to make reasonable accommodations.

For those of us who have to use quotation marks every time we use the word “home,” I’m proposing we be assigned Traveler Under Pressure Status.  As a Traveler Under Pressure, I should be able to see a doctor at the airport who will give me a Xanax IV-drip to prepare me for the trip.  TSA should forego the usual man-handling in favor of a bear hug.  (Because really, who doesn’t need a real hug before they are greeted by a family that is no longer familiar?)  I should be allowed to pre-board the plane to minimize my time standing around waiting with seemingly-happy families. Once seated, vodka or whiskey or scotch should be brought to me by a social worker who can guide me through deep-breathing exercises.  Or a hypnotherapist who can convince me that I am going to see someone else’s family so there’s really no reason to be upset.   With Traveler Under Pressure Status, I should be allowed to recline my seat before takeoff because I’m attempting to relax and you’re attempting to help me.  Flight staff should recognize me as a Traveler Under Pressure and all the other passengers should erupt into applause to facilitate my courage.  I should be allowed to get off the plane last so that I can enjoy a few more moments before being confronted with the reality of so much change.  On my way out, the flight crew, social worker and hypnotherapist should express warm wishes and assure me that that I’m fully equipped to make the most of this trip “home.”  (The Xanax and alcohol and deep breathing will have taken effect by then, so I will believe them.)  Finally, with Traveler Under Pressure Status, I should be able to make changes to my return ticket without penalty.  Because you understand what it’s like to go “home,” and you want me to know I always have a way out.

 

I’ve traveled a lot, you know, so I feel like I’ve seen just about everything.  I know you make accommodations for children and for the elderly and for people with assistance animals and for people with oxygen tanks and people who can’t walk. I’ve seen you work around canes and pacemakers and wheelchairs and cross-dressers and pregnant women and drunks.  You accommodate people who lost their ID, who accidentally threw away their boarding pass, who inadvertently boarded the wrong plane or who mistakenly got off before their final destination.  I know you try to be accommodating, so I’m just bringing it to your attention that you’ve neglected a whole class passengers with a profound disability—the inability to go home.

Sincerely,

SEE

Nobody's Book Award - 2013

Dear Jan-Philipp Sendker-

Congratulations!  After careful evaluation of novels published last year, it is my privilege to inform you that The Art of Hearing Heartbeats has been selected for the 2013 Nobody's Book Prize! 

The Nobody’s Book Prize is reserved for the best under-the-radar book of the year. It means your novel was outstanding, and that the ratio of publicity to quality writing was grossly disproportionate.  Although the Nobody’s Book Prize is less prestigious than the National Book Award or the Man Booker Prize, it is no less earnest in its efforts to recognize a significant achievement in the craft of writing. 

The purpose of the Prize is simple—to increase awareness and promote reading of a remarkable piece of literature that has been largely unnoticed in the past year.  Although your book may have gone unseen last year, please be assured that in awarding this Prize, we are committed to the tireless promotion of The Art of Hearing Heartbeats. 

Congratulations, again on being the first-ever winner of the Nobody's Book Prize.  We wish you all the best and look forward to your future success.

Sincerely,

Nobody’s Book Prize Panel*

*This year’s judge is a spectacularly-popular blogger with a devoted readership of three.  She has relentlessly pestered other readers (and successfuly convinced her little sister) to read The Art of Hearing Heartbeats.