Choosing the correct fork

For every fork in the road, Emily, there are often two paths to choose from… the one you “should” take and the one you want to take.

Take the second. Always take the second.

I did,
The Universe

For the first time in my life, I have the attention of a good man. Since the day I gave him my phone number, he has called me nightly, sometimes twice. When we’re conversing, he asks about my children, how was school/work, if I’m tired. When we’re saying our goodbyes, he asks for my permission to call again, and when is a good time to call. He makes sure I know EXACTLY how he feels about me.

He has a good job, and works steadily (we met through his job). I think he’s sweet and cute and appreciate how considerate he is.

But this is all surface-level stuff – we haven’t discussed important things. Does he want more kids, does he have house-room for my family (since it’s already accepted that he has heart-room), is he particularly religious? Does it bother him that I’m not particularly interested in marriage? In addition to timing (it’s WAY too soon to discuss half these things), we also have cultural and language differences.

(Let’s face it – I’m a mom, college student, retail worker, teacher, and have space in the blogosphere. I have a hard time with my OWN culture and language differences.)

The Folks ™ have issued an automatic, knee-jerk rejection. They have never met, they do not know what he’s like. But since he’s [notwhite], it’s an automatic “no”. It’s frustrating and hypocritical, and it BOTHERS me.

These people are in charge of the roof over my head, and they get punitive rather quickly when certain lines get close to being crossed.

At the moment, my solution is clear. I sit, watch, and wait. Get to know him, and regretfully decline to introduce him to The Folks ™. And regretfully decline to cook dinner for our respective families.

This is not how I wanted my home to be. I want my kitchen to be filled with good food and friends, the livingroom loud and boisterous with kids playing.

When I lived on my own (and next door), The Folks ™ graced my doorway a grand total of three times in four years that I can remember. When I lived in Florida, they came to visit once in eighteen months (and Mom was an airline employee so ticket price was absolutely NOT a consideration). When I lived in Arkansas, Mom came once to visit, and Dad chaperoned my daughter back and forth for visits to their house. Mom’s remaining family lives less than two hours away, and she hasn’t been “home” in I can’t tell you how long. Their home is their Sanctum Santorum, their Castle, and They Don’t Leave. If an engraved, personally delivered invitation is not in your hand, you will most likely be challenged at the gate met in the driveway. Who is here, WHY are they here, how long will they be here?

In order to have my warm happy kitchen with my bright boisterous livingroom, with my [notwhite] suitor, I must move. To ask my parents to live their lives my way would make us all miserable.

But, because The Folks ™ are punitive people, they would view visiting our home as extending approval for our way of life – which would be unthinkable for them. Moving into my happy home would mean not seeing them – not a problem for me or my daughter, but a complete and total paradigm shift for my boys. This is the only home my boys can remember – in their memories, we’ve always lived with my parents.

My dad is the only “father figure” my boys have ever known. Taking that away from them is not something I look forward to doing.