Bridging the Gap

This past weekend I was lucky enough to sit next to my grandmother for dinner. It should be noted that while she joined our family only a mere thirteen years ago, she is absolutely part of the family, and thus I pay the same respect to her as I would anyone from the grandparent generation.

However, it should also be noted that she tends to avoid - at all costs - ever paying me a straight, direct, just-so-you-feel-good compliment. For instance, last Christmas, instead of saying that my haircut looked nice she said, "I love your haircut because your last one really fell on your face at all the wrong angles." Oh, okay, thanks.

Or, earlier this summer at a family BBQ, instead of saying I looked nice she said, "You look great, you must have lost weight because your figure is finally beginning to show." Er, I've been the same weight for three years, but yes, thanks.

Last Saturday was no different. Except this time I must give her the credit and mention that our conversation was extremely positive, and she did, ultimately, say some very nice things. But this was my favorite:

We were talking about how my politics and lifestyle may, er, deviate from the rest of my family. I was a little confused as to what she was talking about because we haven't really had "the talk" that would merit this statement, but I went with it. I agreed, and said, yes, I was a bit more liberal than the others but I really didn't think family needed to revolve around vice-presidential nominations. She responds,

"You're absolutely right, and I really respect your ability to bridge the two worlds. I have every confidence that if you started dating an affluent boy from Newport, you would absolutely hold your own, despite your not understanding his background."

She was right. I mean, just that afternoon my family had taken a cruise on my uncle's yacht to check out the palaces that skimmed the Newport coastline. What simpletons we were, sipping white wine and nibbling crab cakes, reaching for our cable knit sweaters and country-club-specific fleeces when the wind picked up just before sunset.

I wondered what my boyfriend in Newport would look like; if his house was on the water, or simply at the end of a private drive. Would his parents both work, or would one stay home to tend the household? Maybe he would have an older sister, who was brunette, and single, and enjoyed long walks on the beach.

"You're right," I finally responded. "I just hope the boy I finally end up with is able to embrace our many differences, and appreciate our similar interests."