The Familiar

     All three of Gastons felt a certain dread in the days leading up to the visit.  Despite reassuring themselves that they all still loved one another, each of them worried in silence about the lack of values held by the other side.

     The problem that occurred that Saturday night for the family was a direct result of the fact that things had gone well during the previous two days.  For that reason, the conversation now was on the brink of erupting into the horrible scene that they all feared. 

The first glass of red wine for Hannah and her mother accompanied by a Sam Adams for her father that evening resulted in discussion that was no different than the talk during the night before.  They had stuck to talk of the Steelers and the Bachelor, which were safe common ground.  The second round of drinks changed family dynamics slightly when Hannah’s mother tried to pry information from her about her dating life.  But it was the third drink that they would all come to regret.  A third round was only enjoyed by everyone that evening out of relief that Thanksgiving and the Friday after the holiday had passed without incident. 

     “It’s getting so a guy can’t say much of anything anymore without getting in trouble.”  The man in the flannel shirt settled back into the recliner that faced the flatscreen.  Out of respect for their daughter, the Gastons had muted it but her father still preferred that the television remain on his favorite channel so he could catch any breaking news.  He had left the closed caption on.

     The woman in the black sweater and jeans gripped the glass a little harder.  She had held her tongue more than a few times during the previous two days.  There had been the terrorist comment, the “those people” dialogue, and the speech about values in this country.  “Dad, it’s not that men can’t say anything— that’s not what it’s about.”  Satisfied that she might have fended off disaster, she took another sip.

     Tim Gaston took a pull from the bottle and shook his head.  “It’s ridiculous though.  How’s a man even supposed to ask a woman out now without someone saying it’s harassment.”  When he looked at her, he pictured the girl in pigtails that used to sit on his lap and he missed those days.  Tonight, he was desperate to hear his daughter display the beliefs that she had been raised to hold.  He was tired of hearing about diversity and climate change and longed for her to be the girl that respected her family.

     “Your father does have a point.”  Her mother nodded while swirled her glass in a wrinkled hand that displayed the twenty-nine year old wedding band.  “I’m just thankful I didn’t have to deal with this whole mess when I was your age.  When I was your age, I was thankful when a man gave me a compliment.”  She turned to her husband and adjusted her glasses, “I mean, what woman doesn’t want to hear that she’s beautiful.”  She turned back to her daughter knowing that men must sometimes tell the tall brunette that she’s pretty and hoping that the woman raised in this household appreciated those words.

     There was quiet for only a few seconds among the triangle in the living room.  Despite all three of them being completely dug into their positions, there was still a tiny spark of hope held by each member of the family that somehow they would all be reunited with a belief in the right values.  This quiet served as the last moment in the conversation where mother, father, and daughter faced one another before that flame was extinguished.  The divide separating tonight between conversation and lecture was crossed.  Slowly, all three of them felt themselves slipping over the brink and falling away from the optimistic hope of the other party being reasonable.  Now, all three plummeted towards the pessimism of the broken bond. 

     “That’s not the point mom,” Hannah took another sip and felt her face flush.  She clenched her teeth and hoped that maybe this would be the end of it.

     Her father stared ahead at Hannity’s face as his words appeared on the screen.  “It’s all this damn political correctness.”  His voice took on an angrier tone and his eyes narrowed.  Shaking his head, he continued on.  “The whole world’s afraid to say anything worrying it might offend someone.” 

     He had changed over the last few years.  It wasn’t just the thinning, graying hair or the extra weight.  Hannah stared at a man different than the guy on the sidelines at her soccer games just seven years ago.  The same man that took her took to Steelers games and always had a corny joke for her friends was gone.  Instead, she was heard the grating sound of a spiteful voice that she no longer recognized.  “It’s not about political correctness dad, it’s about what’s right.”  Venom was not a word that Hannah would’ve used to describe her father years ago.

“Oh, it’s about political correctness alright.  These speech Nazi liberals that think that they can tell people what to say.  They’re killing this country and have made us weak.”  Looking at his daughter, he didn’t understand where he had gone wrong for her to not see what was wrong in the world.

     “They’re not the ones killing this country…”  Hannah looked over at the thirty-two inch television.  She wanted so badly to blame Fox News for her father’s descent.  She joked with Madeline about filing a class action lawsuit against the corporation that fed on the nostalgia of older people and chiseled it into a fine flume of hatred.  But there was a part of her that hurt deep inside knowing that somewhere her father held some base beliefs that fed his anger.

     Her mother in her mind was the peacekeeper.  “Well, sometimes I just think that I lived too long.  That’s what Frannie used to say too.  I just think today’s world passed me by.”  Sadness drove most of her comments.

     “Well it’s not like this just happened over night.  He destroyed this country.  We had to suffer eight years of that asshole.”  As he spoke, his mind wandered to the question that always came to mind.  Why did his daughter desert them?  How could she leave her family to head to that hellhole?  And now, his daughter didn’t care what happened to the world that her parents worked so hard to create.  A safe world that put her through college and gave her a job.  He felt a flare-up of anger at her lack of appreciation.

     “Obama?”  She laughed.  “Obama ruined this country?  Look at who’s in office?  A lying, sexist, racist jerk.”  She wanted to say asshole too, but somehow struggled to curse in front of her parents.  She looked to the woman with cropped brown hair that was also starting to grey.  Unlike her father, her mother still exercised and participated a world of book clubs and bridge games beyond the household.  Hannah couldn’t understand how the Christian school-teacher had come to vote for Trump.

     “Racist… that’s always where they go.”  Her father rolled his eyes.  It irritated him that his daughter was off in New York working for the people there instead of being a social worker here.  There were plenty of people right here in their hometown in need that she was ignoring.  “We should all just be thankful that Crooked Hillary’s not President or there’d be nothing left of this country.”  He shook his beer and pointed it at his daughter.  “We did eight years under your guy, and now you can know how it feels.”

     Hannah didn’t want to let loose, but her hand now trembled.  “Dad, there’s no way you can compare Trump to Obama.  Trump’s a child… he’s an idiot…”  She understood how they had voted Bush and Reagan, but Trump was not a divide between Democrats and Republicans— but rather a boundary that defined humanity.

     “He’s the President and people should respect that.”  He had taught her better than this. 

     “He is the President and he’s not doing a bad job.”  Her mother’s tone was the only one of the three that had not changed during the conversation.

     “He’s doing a terrible job.  He’s written off anyone who is black, Muslim, female, Latino.  Obama was not a hateful.”

     “Obama’s the one who divided this country in the first place.”  Her father’s voice grew louder.  “He’s the one talking about how we’re all different.  He spent his time taking money away from hard-working people and giving it away.  Our health insurance went up over a thousand dollars a year.  That’s what Obama did to your people.”  He didn’t understand why his daughter couldn’t stand with him.

     “We don’t even go to the doctor anymore.  The whole thing’s such a mess.  And who can afford it?”  Samantha Gaston continued to believe that she was being neutral.  She hoped that her daughter saw how rational her mother was being and could come to see things the right way.

     “And you’re okay with this socialist mess?  Obamacare?”  He motioned widely in a sweeping gesture with his arm believing for just an instance that his daughter would come around.

     “Obamacare has helped a lot of my clients.  Some of them didn’t have any insurance before and now they do.  Some people have to pay a little more but look at all the people who are benefitting.”  Her eyes looked to her mother and pleaded that her mother cared about others.

     Her mother frowned.  “A thousand dollars a year may not be much for your friends in New York, but that’s money from my retirement that I worked hard for.”  Her heart felt a small stab at the betrayal by her daughter.

     “Up there, spending all your time worrying about those people…”  Tim Gaston was done trying for the evening.  He only took solace in the fact that one day his daughter would have a family of her own and she would understand.  But for now, she was not appreciative.

     “Those people,” Hannah stood up.  She wanted to hurl the glass at the face of the personality on the screen.  She wanted to scream, to stomp, to cry.  She looked at her parents and knew why they never asked about her work anymore.  “You’ve been listening to too much of that asshole.”  She pointed to the tv.

     “Nice Hannah,” he shook his head in disbelief that his daughter would speak this way in front of them. 

     “Ohh, I’m sorry I don’t use respectful language like our President.”  She knew that she should keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t help herself.  “I can’t believe that you two voted for him.  He’s horrible— he’s a horrible person.”

“Better than that Muslim and Crooked Hillary…”

It was at this moment where daughter looked at father and mother, and father and mother looked at their daughter.  All three wondered how the other side could be so wrong and not see it.  The bond of being blood relatives was all that seemed to hold them together.

“You’re not even making sense.  That’s racist and ridiculous.  It doesn’t even dignify a response.”

“Always taking it back to race.  Thank your President for that.  Like he’s not the racist.” 

By this point, Hannah was already making her way out across the living room towards the spare bedroom.  Knowing that her parents would stay up a few more minutes to comfort each other in how they handled things, she couldn’t help but leave a parting shot.  “You’re better than this.”

She slammed the door behind her.  As Hannah furiously pulled her clothes from the drawer and stuffed them into her suitcase, tears streamed down her cheeks.  She didn’t know exactly why she was crying but the hurt was greater than anything that she had anticipated before the trip. 

In the living room, her father and mother finished their drinks.  In quiet whispers, they reassured one another before heading to bed.  Within a few hours, all of the lights were turned off and the Gaston family fell asleep under the same roof.