joan

My mother-in-law cried the first time she met me. As I extended my hand to shake hers, she dropped her head into her cupped hands and cried. I had started to say, “It’s nice to . . .” but didn’t bother to finish my salutation at her reaction. Honestly, my first inclination in response to this behavior was to laugh, but I suppressed it in view of her obvious pain. Why did she react this way? Simply put, my mother-in-law is a bigot. She threatened to disown my wife upon hearing that I was of Japanese descent. She ranted that while she would welcome my wife’s visits to her home at any time, she would not allow me in the house. She would not share any of her prized recipes with my wife because she did not want me eating her favorite foods. Nobody would sell us a house because of our “mixed-marriage” status. Our only option would be to move to Hawaii, the ONLY place we could buy a home. Our marriage would ultimately end in failure due to our cultural differences. (Mind you, my family had been true-blood American for three generations) She continued that after all, the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, further validation of our duplicitous and evil ways. We were obviously a race undeserving of trust or consideration.

Yet, I love my mother-in-law. I’m not being facetious or ironic here. Over the years, I’ve come to understand her and in some ways, respect her. While she is horribly racist (she voted for a Republican presidential candidate for the first time in her life because President Obama is black), she is unashamedly open about it. (Contrast that to my father-in-law, who feels the same way, but knows it is politically incorrect to openly state this.) Yes, it is appalling, but as Joni (bless her heart, she married me in spite of all the protestations and rantings of her parents) has often stated, no arguments or rational discourse will ever change that. She will go to her grave clutching her beliefs steadfastly to her heart. My mother-in-law is, like all of us, multi-layered. We all have our own flaws, our own demons, but we also share the need to be respected and loved (ideally unconditionally).

Since our marriage, my mother-in-law has gone on to alienate the spouses of all of her other six children and indeed, some of her own children along the way. She called the wife of one of her sons a “hoar” (we presume she meant “whore”) in a letter she wrote to that daughter-in-law. She directly accused one of her granddaughters of being a thief and a liar on the telephone when one of my mother-in-law’s possessions in her Park City condo went missing immediately after a visit by that branch of our family. Such stories continue to circulate and are recounted many times whenever any of us congregate.

But, my mother-in-law is in the twilight of her years. She recently told me she did not anticipate being around for another year, a statement that surprised and saddened me. She is in a combative relationship with her husband who holds little sympathy for her failing health and treats her with open disdain. This has gone on since and even before that memorable first encounter I had with her in the Denver Stapleton Airport. She seems largely ignored by her own children who all live conveniently in other states, except one who is kept busy and inattentive by the demands of his own business. She is in constant pain, has little mobility and has become increasingly dependent upon her husband in the isolation of their Colorado environs. She is lonely, isolated and unable to enjoy what few pleasures are left, in particular, her fondness for good food as it has become next to impossible for her to cook. Hence the bridge that has allowed us to form our special mother-in-law/son-in-law bond.

I KNOW she enjoys her food. She is a discerning judge of what is good and what is not. She has become the external validation to my escalating passion for preparing and experimenting with food. As I’ve mentioned before, for me, preparing food for somebody is the ultimate expression of love and friendship. You are nurturing and caring for somebody in the most fundamental way, by feeding them. At the completion of a meal, I anxiously await her pronouncement of the success or failure of my efforts. Typically, I don’t have to wait for this ultimate assessment as it becomes obvious at her first few bites of each dish. She will smile involuntarily as she looks down at the dish in front of her if it is an unabashed success. She will frown if it is not. If it is especially good, she cannot help but utter, “Delicious!” in an enthusiastic voice. Lately, she has offered only praise, but it seems more tempered. Joni suggests that the quality of my cooking has improved to the point that “delicious” is the norm and my mother-in-law has become accustomed to this level of preparation. I’m not sure that this is accurate, but if it is, I still hang on for the “delicious” pronouncement which seems to occur with less frequency (even though I’ve taken to impressing myself a lot lately with the quality of my dishes).

I can tell you though, that upon departing from one of our meals, my mother-in-law often tears up and hugs me with some statement like, “You’re a good man.” This is not to be taken lightly. She has not manifested similar behavior with any of the other in-laws. After that day in the airport so many years ago, I have elevated myself to the unrivalled status of favorite in-law, in spite of my racial roots. I like that. I’m happy to be accorded this status. I care about this woman and worry about her welfare. I hope she does not leave this world with sadness or isolation. I hope she is wrong and that this will not be her last year here. I want to cook her yet another Thanksgiving dinner, which is easily her favorite meal each year. For many years now, Thanksgiving is a given between us. She has an open invitation to come to Salt Lake City to share in this family tradition. I can honestly say, Thanksgiving would not be the same without her presence. Oh, and did I mention that each year, our Thanksgiving dinner consists of food prepared according to her most prized recipes?