Every family gathering has its recurring themes that drive everyone a little crazy.
The Table
My fiancé and I actually play family bingo at both our families’ get-togethers because neither side is any different. Bingo if a teenage nephew pulls out his phone during dinner and his mom yells at him. Bingo if a female relative coos silly baby talk to her tiny dog. Bingo if someone tells the same story twice. Bingo if someone burps and doesn’t say sorry. Gossip about neighbor Feri, manicurist Zita, mechanic Zoli, or butcher Imi. (Bonus bingo if no one knows who they’re talking about.) Bingo if a wife complains her husband does nothing, and the husband grumbles that his wife nags. Once, I got so caught up I loudly shouted, "BINGO!" Everyone stared at me while my boyfriend burst out laughing.
Checkmarks
Scenes I can check off at every family bash: my mom comparing someone to me. Maybe to neighbor Zsuzsa, who earns more than I do, or hairdresser Betti, who has a very cute new boyfriend, or a celebrity who recently lost weight and is slimmer than me. Then my dad cracks a wildly sexist, homophobic, or racist joke that no one laughs at except him. Next comes my aunt, who inevitably gets offended by something (anything!) and retreats to the bathroom sniffling. After all that, the party always ends with my brother-in-law getting so drunk he staggers around and three people have to pile him into the car to get him home.
Phases
My husband was the first—and only—guy I brought home because I didn’t want to expose anyone to my family life unless I knew they were The One. On the way there, I gave him a quick rundown of what to expect. At first, everyone will smile and be charming. Then the whispered disagreements start, and after a while, everyone openly yells at each other. Don’t be surprised by that. He was a bit shocked the first time my grandpa yelled at my brother-in-law, "I’ll kill you, you bastard!" But when he saw no one flinched, he relaxed too. The next day, he told his friends we’re an Italian-style family where death threats are just everyday talk.
Insults
There’s never loud shouting in our family, just snarky remarks and dropped comments that sting. "Marcsika, are you sure this salad is fresh? It tastes like it’s been frozen..." "Petikém, what’s up with your son? Has he found a job or is he still figuring himself out?" "Nórikám, when was this bathroom last renovated...?" "I don’t want to interfere, Pirikém, but a humanities degree? That’s pointless!" "Bercikém, are you still at that company where you earn so little?" "Annuska, when are you getting married? Don’t want you to end up alone!" "Borikám, you’ll understand when you become a mom..." Not ten minutes go by without someone hurting someone else. It’s emotionally draining, but it’s always been this way.
The Script
At my husband’s family, every gathering is a tragicomedy—just without a stage. The first act features my mother-in-law playing the eternal martyr:
So I guess I was a bad mother to you all. Oh well, I’ll be dead soon anyway, so you don’t have to put up with me much longer!
Mother-in-law exits left, then father-in-law comes on, who starts ranting about politics until he’s frothing at the mouth: "This country is where it is because of people like this!" Father-in-law exits right, then my sister-in-law appears with her usual doomsday predictions: "Vaccines cause cancer, there’s poison in the food, they’re implanting chips in us, an asteroid is heading our way, the Earth is turning to desert, inflation is skyrocketing, we’ll starve!" The finale is my husband bringing up an awkward story no one wants to remember: "Remember when grandma dropped the grandkid on his head? When dad threw me in the water and I almost drowned? When mom burned the Christmas duck so badly we only ate sides? When the kid pooped during the christening?" Bingo, curtain closes.
The Argument
Backyard barbecues and stews always include a heated debate between my dad, uncle, older brother, and younger brother about how long and how to cook, salt, roast, and season the meat. Each man fancies himself a culinary oracle, and there’s always a loud argument about the meat. In the end, with so many cooks in the kitchen, my mom or grandma ends up salting or seasoning it to make sure the food actually tastes good. Bingo if after eating every male relative claims the meal’s delicious because of them and if a kid cries because it’s too spicy.
