Two Sides of the Family

If you ever wanted psychological whiplash, drop in on the two sides of my family.

My mom’s side is Catholic through and through. They go to Mass regularly. They eat lots of pork — especially Polish Sausage. They’re a military family; my grandma spent a year in Japan after WWII while her father was stationed there. Her brother was a paratrooper who worked his way up to Colonel, then Inspector General. Her brother-in-law wrote CIA reports about South America that wound up on the desk in the Oval Office.

My dad’s side is Jewish, although they rarely go to synagogue. They don’t keep kosher, but they almost never eat pork. The family emigrated from Russia in the early 1900’s; my grandpa spent a few weeks in the Army Reserve, but that’s as close as anyone on that side got to military action. My grandpa taught English. His sister taught accounting — and yoga. Their brother became an attorney.

My mom’s side of the family drinks. A lot. My uncle is never seen without his trusty green and purple cooler full of beer. When I clean up after family gatherings, I have to be careful when placing the trash bag in the bin; otherwise, dozens of wine, beer, and liquor bottles would shatter.

Meanwhile, my grandpa on my dad’s side is lucky if he can get down half a glass of wine without feeling woozy.

My mom’s side is a big family. Six Baby Boomers. More than 30 Gen-Xers. Almost 100 of us kids. On Dad’s side, I can count the whole family on my fingers and toes.

I’ve been aware of this dichotomy, and my unique place at the center of it, since I was young. At my high-school graduation party, I joked about it in a short speech: I compared the voicemails the two sides left on our home answering machine.

My dad’s father, in perfect, old Jewish man stereotype, would leave long, rambling messages that would get cut off by the machine for going over the allotted three minutes. The next message would be from my mom’s cousin. She’d bellow into the phone, sounding a margarita or three or the wind, “Heeyyyy girl! Call me back!”

So I wasn’t surprised, just … an interested observer of their attitudes toward the holidays.

On Christmas Eve Eve, my cousins and I held our fourth annual Cousins Night. We gathered in one cousin’s kitchen/living room. It was windy and cold out, so we didn’t open a window and I doubt anyone thought to. We shook hands and hugged. We toasted. We shared pizzas. There was not a mask to be found. The only mention I heard of a pandemic was when I asked one cousin whether his sister was coming. He said, “No, she’s worried about Covid.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah,” he replied, “Hard to believe we’re related.”

On Christmas Eve morning — about 10 hours after I left Cousins Night — a relative from my dad’s side came to deliver homemade cookies. It was 20 degrees outside when she rang the doorbell. By the time we opened the door, she had left the cookies on the porch and retreated to the driveway.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked. I heard her say, through her mask, “I’m being very, very careful about Covid. I don’t get near anyone.”

In that high-school-grad-party speech, I said I was proud of both sides of my family. I’d like to add another word: I am grateful, grateful beyond words, to have been born at the joint of the two sides, the two cultures, the two worlds.

Because now, when I hear criticisms of Republicans or “Bible-thumpers” or “stupid conservatives,” I think, I know people you think you’re talking about. Real people, not your caricatures. They’re smart and logical; they try not to act on emotion. They’re fun to be with. They support each other and they love each other, and I love them.

And when I hear criticisms of Democrats or “educated elites” or “bleeding-heat liberals,” I think, I know people you think you’re talking about. Real people, not your caricatures. They’re wonderful and caring, and fun to be with. They support each other and they love each other, and I love them.

I only wish more folks could think in—and see—people, not caricatures.

If you enjoyed this story — and even if you didn’t — you should check out my book, Ticketless: How Sneaking Into The Super Bowl And Everything Else (Almost) Held My Life Together.