Date Or Die 2: The Wake

It's 9pm and I am way too happy to be at this wake consoling my cousin. Well, she's not my cousin. She's my mother's cousin...after a fashion. Let me explain

One of the most beautiful things about being Latin is the fluid definition of family. I occasionally struggle with this. I'm the first to admit it. I'm OK with that because I have further observed that white people just don't understand this at all. So this woman is not my cousin and might actually be my mother's second cousin once removed. But my grandmother and her mother grew up together (while not strictly sisters) in the same house and started the second half of their life together again in a different country. She's family...I know this because when I was small we had family gatherings and she was there. Her whole family was there, my family.

Still I'm doing a horrible job consoling her, I'm too perky. Further, when her mom died and my grandmother moved to Florida that familial connection loosed. Remember, I used the word "fluidity" and i meant it. Still, I got here in a pretty good mood and it has only got better over the course of the hour. Seeing these people I had not seen in 15 years made me think of happier, more innocent times. Soon I was joined by my uncles (who are in their 40s and more like big brothers...more fluidity) and their families and another cousin( who was actually a second cousin once...well you get the picture) and our grieving cousin told her dad's grieving widow how this was her Aunt Isabel's family and we were all family and she nodded with approval and made mention to the stories she heard from the old days...

This made me tingle a bit. Yes, I'm single and melancholy but I'm also part of something larger, a mythology I guess. It starts with bunch of guys in their sixties decided in the 1970s to show up in this country and try to build a better life for their huge and preposterously young families. Then these guys met a a fellow country man, a life long bachelor who passed for much younger than he was and how one of them introduced them to a daughter who had come to this country (as luck would have it) with a completely valid passport that was attained through a completely invalid process and how later a preposterously large baby was the first product of this union. My grandfather was one of these guys, and this fellow in the casket, he was there too...

Let's not focus on what a good guy I am. When my mom asked me to attend on her behalf I immediately balked. I was drunk after a concert and further had made plans for a date...how do I kill my date and attend this random event...It's saturday I'm trying to make a day of it but how do I start off in jeans then end up in a suit...what if I get lucky? Too many variables and I needed to simplify the situation...I committed to going on the date (to my mom...she hates me now) and if things went horribly awry I would make my way to Union City to the funeral home and pay respects. If things were going well, I reserved the right to bail. My mom reserved the right to use my grandmother's voice if need be. I was talking big but knew where this would end.

The date itself started ominously, I went to the wrong museum...a bad sign...clearly my argument with my mom had thrown me off. It got better and worse from there simultaneously. Neither of us were as into the art as we were in exploring each other's mindset. We discussed her oral fixation (she used to smoke) and how often she screened her dad's calls (something like 85% of the time). We discussed her sisters and how one of them dated a really bad actor who was apparently a super genuine guy. I mentioned half heartedly how my mom calls me every day and how I'm trying to ween her down to every other day. We got bored with the exhibit, except for the bit where we stood in a room with a mirror for the floor and the security guard pointed out to her that she was wearing a skirt and everyone (read: me) could see her panties. That was worth an awkward laugh.

We gave up on the post modern art and walked around central park and talked about the great restaurants we have eaten at (and failed to properly name half of them), theorized on the origin of the rollerskating rink that always seems to happen in the park and talked at some length about the people we have been with in the past...I suggested it might be a bit early for this conversation but she pointed out that we have probably gotten to know more about each other in two dates than she has in 5 or 6. I agreed and was aghast to see it was 6pm...crap I was on the verge of letting my grandmother down...I'm a jerk by design not by conscious act. She asked what was wrong and I admitted a confounding commitment and bit of family history. I thought this would be a strike against me in the grand scheme of things as she she had just spent all afternoon screening her dad. She apologized and admitted that when she is having a good time she could be a marathoner. I agreed that it was something we shared...just like diametrically opposed views on tapas was something we did not share. I further admitted that 5 hours is not a marathon per se...just a really good time...

I rushed home slapped on a suit and got lost all over Hudson county...

Later that night, we (family) sat there having a late dinner. We goofed on each other , shared some laughs and ate some great tapas. I was exhausted by my day but glad I was there...glad about all of it...I wondered how fluid it would be to insert my earlier date into this scene. We'll need to work on the tapas thing for sure...and we might need to make her wit a little more biting but all in all, I could see it happening...I guess...

P.S. - My grandfather turns 95 in November. I think in the run up to that, I may explore the Mythology a bit...stay tuned...