Take My Wife
Why do my parents always side with their daughter-in-law instead of their son?
When the phone rang the other night and the caller ID indicated it was my parents on the line, Sara handed me the receiver without answering. By unspoken agreement, we are each in charge of fielding calls from our own families. I hit the talk button and my mother's voice lilted, "Hi, Spud. Is Sara home? I need to ask her something." I wasn't at all surprised that she wasn't calling for me, because my parents don't view Sara as their daughter-in-law. They view her as the daughter they never had, or at least the daughter whose college tuition they didn't have to pay.
At times, their unswerving affection for Sara means I'm not so much their son as their daughter-in-law's husband. Now, I have a good relationship with Sara's folks, Bob and Linda. Sure, there was that time in college when Bob thought he had walked in on me sleeping in Sara's bed with her (it was Sara's sister, Nikki, under the covers with her) and he erupted like a paternal Vesuvius. But that little hiccup was dwarfed by my in-laws' forgiving me for taking their eldest child to California for a decade, so now there are no hard feelings either way. They like me, I like them, and on the sliding scale of in-law relations, I think we're very much on the plus side.
But the way my parents feel about Sara knocks the needle right off the aforementioned scale. For one thing, my mother actually lived with Sara before I did. We had been dating for two years, and I went off to do summer-stock theater in Stowe, Vermont. My Uncle Marshall offered Sara a summer job with his law firm, but her folks' home in Falmouth was too far from his Boston offices. So, like on any sitcom, my girlfriend moved into my family's beach house in Hull, where my mom was spending a sabbatical. I was worried they'd hate each other and that I'd regret the arrangement for the rest of my life. Instead, they had a grand old time, and by the end of the summer, I believe my mom was more attached to Sara than I was.
And don't get me started on my dad. An avid runner, he would have given anything to have his only child follow in his New Balanced footsteps. Sadly, I find running just slightly more enjoyable than ear infections, so we haven't jogged together since I was 11. But with his daughter-in-law, who is now training for a marathon, he gets to experience that parental runner's high.
Obviously, I'm glad they get along so famously. I have a few male friends whose wives speak of their M.I.L. or F.I.L. with the kind of scorn usually reserved for the IRS. But there are times I'm pretty sure my folks prefer Sara to me. And who can blame them? With me, they've got baggage: diaper changes, those college payments, three years of orthodontics. Meanwhile, Sara has given them grandkids, brought me back from LA, and even makes the bed when we sleep over.
Maybe I'm forgetting a few hundred other great things about Sara. And, of course, I know why they love her - I loved her first! But they loved me first, right? So why is it that when Sara and I make the mistake of having a disagreement in their general vicinity, my parents always take her side? Doesn't loyalty count for anything? I got good grades in school, usually made curfew, and never once was brought home by the cops. I married Sara because I wanted a soul mate and life partner, not to provide my parents with an extra kid. But I'll admit to the creeping belief that if Sara and I were ever to divorce, they'd stay in touch with her and I'd be the one on the outs.
When I told Sara that I was going to write this column, she thought it was funny - if not at all based in truth. She assured me that my parents love me best and that nothing could ever change that. I think she's wrong. Of course, when I mentioned this column to my parents, they agreed with Sara's estimation. And as much as I'd like to believe them, I can't help but realize: There they go, taking Sara's side again.
Shawn Peters lives with his wife and two kids in the Metrowest area. E-mail comments to coupling@globe.com. 