Now that I’ve taken a 24-hour detoxification after “the thing” yesterday, I can reflect and state again for the record, “you can’t change others, you can only change yourself.”

The afternoon started by traversing Athens from south to north to pick up my fiancé’s brother who didn’t arrange a cab or want to take public transportation, then back south to arrive at his father’s house. We were intentionally late to avoid the pre-”thing” gossip and Q&A session.

I adopted an anti-Boy Scout motto of “don’t be prepared.” That is, just be open to whatever happens.

Some of the usual suspects were present. Remnants from previous years’ hoopla sat tellingly on the table in the form of mismatched plates and glasses. Sixteen of us — half of which were named Konstantinos/a, Giorgos and Christos — were in attendance. Aunt Eleni was talking about her son who died tragically several years ago, as she does in every conversation. There was plenty of wine.

Alterations to the recipe for “the thing” included our plates being pre-loaded in a plausible attempt to get us to eat more food, stereo volume was low key instead of cranked up after dinner, I was not given underwear as a gift by my future father-in-law (am I the only one who finds that strange?), and there was no dancing or breaking of plates to which my fiancé exclaimed, “Thank God!”

In the absence of these ingredients, others were added: Tension, pushing of agendas and ’80s breakdancing. We won the lottery and had them all at our end of the table.

The tension came from my fiancé’s father pissing off his usually bubbly girlfriend by saying her potatoes were “xalia’ and wouldn’t eat them, in addition to an ongoing issue over money owed to my fiancé since October by his ex-boss (aka, cousin), who sat across from us at the table. His cousin also banned me from speaking to him in April (see, “Hypocrite is a Greek word,”) but I still embraced him as if nothing happened.

On the pushing front was: An agenda for grandchildren; a heavy handed request that all “the women” gather at my house to take walks, teach me how to cook Greek food and discuss child rearing; and a guilt-laden, teary eyed plea that the family get together for “the thing” every 15 days. Eeee! Now as fun and tempting as it all sounds, and as grateful I am that people want my company, that over there is an outline of me in the wall after I’ve run through it, screaming “HELL NO!” Instead of defacing the building, I nodded and deadpanned an, “Oh, ti oraia. Efharisto, tha doume.”

This was followed by an outbreak of seven discussions between people not sitting next to each other, causing the volume in the living room to quadruple, and someone passing around a badly translated (U.S. English to Greek) breakdancing book from 1985 with instructions and photos of the “mavros.” Thankfully, no one tried to bust a move.

Most fashionable of “the thing” goes to Uncle Christo wearing a grey suit, pink shirt, purple-and-white striped tie, brown socks and tan shoes. He also provided comic relief. Attempting to escape the mayhem with a cigarette on the balcony, we tortured him a bit by turning on the blinking Christmas lights and locking him outside with little Konstantina and her new crying baby toy. He laughed and told us all where to go, as the elders pointed at buttons that were about to pop off his suit jacket from his now bulging stomach.

“The thing” turned awkward for me when my fiancé went to the kitchen and left me alone with his father. He was talking again about the women getting together to help me with my Greek and cooking, then suddenly became choked up, hiccuped back some tears and started bawling as he called out, “M’agapate!” Since I’d never confronted the same situation with my own father, all I could do was put a reassuring arm on his shoulder and yell for my fiancé to run out and help me.

With the full range of emotions covered in less than three hours, we took our leave. Luckily, it’s all captured on videotape so we can relive the magic again and again.

Related post

“Easter in Athens“

Four days remain until we’re due to attend “the thing.”

Last year was my first appearance at “the thing” my fiancé has been attending every year since he was born. He dreads “the thing,” he complains about “the thing,” and he’s relieved when “the thing” is over.

Me? Well, “the thing” has only been a rare occurrence in my life since moving away from California, then ended permanently when my parents passed away five years ago. I also used to dread “the thing,” develop a stress rash after being at “the thing” for more than a few hours and sometimes met up with friends for a shot of whiskey when “the thing” was over. But some part of me wouldn’t mind “the thing” if it meant I could have my family back for just one hour of one day.

Now my fiancé has brought “the thing” back into my life.

His thing is a lot different than my thing, but the general recipe and outcome are the same. Put a bunch of relatives with nothing in common around the same table, sprinkle endlessly with food, add some inappropriate questions and comments, mix with alcohol, stir vigorously with unsolicited advice, cut into portions to fight over and serve hot tempered. Now you’ve got a dysfunctional holiday gathering we call “the thing.”

Since I became part of “the thing,” much of the attention has shifted to me as the new person and foreigner. People speak to me like I’m 5 years old, explain Greek food as if I’ve never seen it before and “po po po” over my fiancé’s mistake in choosing someone not Greek. Dispelling preconceived ideas goes nowhere, so I take it with a grain of salt. I like to think of it as putting the ‘fun’ in dysfunction…and family is family, after all.

What’s different about “the thing” at his dad’s house is they crank up the stereo after dinner, kick over the furniture and throw down knives, plates and glasses to shatter at the dancers’ feet.

In my 10 years in Greece and two years in Astoria, New York, I’ve venomously denied all kinds of stereotypical inquiries about Greeks breaking plates while yelling “Opa!,” as I’ve never seen any evidence of it though I’m aware of the custom’s origins. I tell people we use flowers. So “the thing” last year was a bit of a shock to me, like my life suddenly became a tourist cliché or a movie flashback from 1960, but without an Irish Mexican playing Zorba. I was speechless, and my fiancé rolled his eyes and shook his head. As we got up to leave, his dad became emotional and broke down in tears at the door.

Will it happen again this year? I don’t know, but if they ever come to our house for “the thing,” we’re using plastic dinnerware. I’m all for kefi, I just want to avoid flying to Mexico to replace my glasses and plates!

Here’s hoping your “thing” is a joyous event.

If I don’t see you over the weekend because you were given a long weekend as part of your normal holiday, I’d like to wish you a Merry Christmas and Xronia Polla!!! >^^<

Related posts

“Day after the thing“
 

Watching my parents grapple with family politics when I was a child gave me the impression that it was natural to not get along with in-laws.

My dad was not well-liked by my mom’s parents, my mom tried her best to be in the good graces of my dad’s parents with some success, and the in-laws all knew about and had no particular gripe with each other, but didn’t necessarily want to be in the same room at the same time if it could be helped. To satisfy everyone, Thanksgiving and Christmas had us eating two huge meals on the same day at different houses or we hosted one gathering at our house, then attended someone else’s. Diplomacy started early for me, though many who know me well would say it didn’t help much.

The stress of juggling in-law politics, perceptions of who was loved more, hurt feelings and false accusations of being ungrateful sometimes infringed on internal family affairs, which on one Thanksgiving had my mom on the first floor of our house, boycotting the kitchen and refusing to speak, and my dad on the second floor speaking only to my brother. We ended up having dinner at a Chinese restaurant in near silence, earning the designation of most memorable and weirdest Thanksgiving ever.

Even before moving to Greece 10 years ago, I’d been told all kinds of Greek, Asian, Middle Eastern and Italian mother-in-law stories by friends in California my whole life. Things to the effect of living across the hall or in the same building, criticizing the cooking and cleaning skills of the daughter-in-law, calling her son several times a day, giving unsolicited advice and asking inappropriate questions, making demands, too much coddling/dependency and general drama regarding the pride of her existence.

It is my nature to accept people and things for who and what they are, so I understand and respect this behavior to a great degree. I pass no judgment. But I’ve also had some first-hand experience in which it was necessary to set some healthy boundaries for sanity purposes to minimize my Greek-Italian boyfriend’s spoiled behavior and bad habits. After all, I was not and never would be his mother.

When I unexpectedly lost my parents several years ago, it became a lot more important to have a good relationship with my mother-in-law should I ever get married. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting and juggling, much like I spent my early years. More than that, this was the only mother I would have in my life, and I wanted her to love me as much as I wanted to love her. And that’s what I got.

My future mother-in-law is the kindest, sweetest and most adorable woman. Even before we formally met in person, we sent each other gifts, we’d spoken on the phone a few times and exchanged food. I say “formally met” because the first time I saw her was on a hospital gurney at 3 a.m., after she had a heart attack and was being prepped for a quadruple angioplasty, so I became acquainted with a lot of family members that night in addition to the infamous fakelaki.

And although it was a strange way to meet, nothing about our relationship is estranged. It’s very easy to be with her. She has a great sense of humor, still works full-time and makes french fries for her son because she knows I hate frying. Sometimes I catch her staring and smiling at me. She wept with happiness when we told her we wanted to get married and hugs me much like my own mother did.

She doesn’t call every day, in fact we’re left alone and we call her once a week and have dinner together at least twice a month at our suggestion. She supports our plan to leave Greece and says it’s the best thing we could do because there’s “nothing here for us,” and there has been no pressure to produce grandchildren. I feel nothing but love, genuine respect and acceptance for who I am, what I want to do and our relationship, without the guilt and drama. And because of all of the freedom and love I feel, it makes me want to spend more time with her. My father-in-law…that’s a completely different story.

My mother-in-law is a blessing.

For related stories, see “Family life.”

The saying, “everyone loves a parade” comes from the sentiment that all people like a celebration that is colorful, entertaining, sprinkled with beautiful men and women and has something for everyone. In essence, it’s one big happy party.

But what about the opposite of that? Something secretive, ugly and full of grey areas.

Dusk to darkness

It was Sunday, and we were having dinner with my future mother-in-law on the balcony at sundown. My fiancé called our friend “Wife” to ask how she was to which she inquired when we’d last talked to “Husband.” Though my fiancé had spoken to Husband only two days before, it was clear he avoided a major subject and we were in the dark. Something was disclosed, and the phone conversation ended quickly.

Because my future mother-in-law knows our friends and their parents personally, my fiancé purposely withheld the contents of the conversation and changed the subject. I didn’t push because I understood it was private and probably something bad. Within seconds of finishing dessert, my fiancé rushed us out of there, we got into the car and he told me that Wife and “Son” moved out and were no longer living with Husband.

On the way home, we speculated about what it could be. We knew there were some issues with Husband spending thousands of euros on self-indulgent shopping instead of using the money to pay for household expenses, which Wife pays with her now part-time salary since agreeing to stay home almost full-time to take care of their 2-year-old son. Husband is also impatient with Son, spends little or no time with him, is annoyed by everything he does and treats him like a house pet. Concern has been expressed by others, both male and female.

Several months ago, I also heard a comment that disturbed me enough to change my opinion of Husband, which I’ve been unable to reverse or forgive. He said, “If Wife doesn’t want to move with me to another country, I’ll do it after I’m divorced and leave her with the kid.” I immediately jumped on his case and told him that whether or not he’s joking, I think it’s a shitty ass thing to say. Since then, my interaction with him is restrained.

My fiancé has tried speaking to him about his actions out of concern, but these words fell on deaf ears and met with outrage that it’s none of anyone’s business how he conducts his financial and personal affairs.

Although everyone is innocent until proven guilty, it was difficult for us to not play judge and jury. To us, it was not a matter of guilt but the degree.

Disclosure

I talked to Wife the next morning and made a point of starting the conversation by expressing how upset and worried we are for her, and said that she should only share whatever she feels comfortable with and is not obligated to tell us everything or anything if she chooses. We respect and support her in whatever she needs and wants.

In a straightforward way without name-calling or wild emotion, she told me that an argument had broken out last Monday night after she put their son to sleep (the night after we saw them and a full week ago!). The yelling woke up Son and he started crying, Husband was further angered by the crying and hit her. (!!!) As she tried to grab their son and run for the door, he locked the door and repeatedly hit her until he unlocked the door and pushed her and her son out the door and into the street with nothing but her purse and the car keys she managed to sneak into her pocket. (!!!)

Husband was not drunk, the fight was not physical until he hit her, she went to the hospital but did not need extensive treatment, was at a friend’s house until her parents came back from vacation on Friday and managed to purchase some underwear, clothes, toiletries and other basics. She also filed a police report to gain legal access to collect her things. She and Son are doing fine.

Wife has absolutely no plans to go back or reconcile since she knows if it happens once, it will happen again.

Reaction

The truth was worse than anything we’d speculated on the night before, and I was speechless when she finished.

The only thing I could think to say was the truth: “I have no idea what to say to you, except I’m sorry and I hope you know I deeply care about you and Son, and I’ll be here for anything you need.” After we hung up the phone, I tried to digest what I’d been told before calling my fiancé and breaking the news. He had the same reaction.

Both of us have revisited the same mixed feelings of shock, sadness and confusion.

Let the charade begin

If there was a way to immediately cut Husband out of our lives, we would. But, of course, we can’t just yet.

Husband and Wife are our koumbaros and koumbara.

My fiancé until today considered Husband one of his best friends, like the big brother he never had. Now he doesn’t know what to do with those feelings or how he might react when he sees him again, which could happen at any time since they train together and see each other at work on occasion.

Husband is also the reason we are friends with Wife and Son, though it’s clear where and with whom our loyalty lies.

My fiancé doesn’t see any other option but to let the friendship fade away and end, but it will take time. So the charade of pretending we don’t know anything and keeping our mouths shut as requested by Wife begins.

I decided I cannot see Husband because I don’t know whether I would go for his jugular or be diplomatic enough to stay silent and walk away. How do I separate the person who is/was my friend from the person who is a wifebeater and made my other friend a statistic? They’re the same person.

At least I know Wife will be fine. She’s a strong-willed intelligent young woman, athlete, great mother and educated professional with a career, good sense and a strong network of family and friends.

Why I did this post

I know that domestic violence isn’t a cheery subject, but it’s prevalent in every nation and does not discriminate according to age, race, class, social status, education level or gender. It’s also never been at my doorstep until now.

It got me thinking about the women who are not like Wife — women who may be foreign, may not speak Greek, may not have a job and depend on their husband for financial support, don’t have friends or family to turn to in Greece and/or abroad, and don’t know what to do, where to go or who to call.

Everyone always talks about how women stay silent and don’t leave, but they don’t tell them who to call to let their voices be heard and where to go if they want to leave.

Where to go for help

If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence in Greece — whether it’s physical, psychological, emotional, verbal or $exual — there are people who can help. It’s never too late. Most of the centers are in major cities, however a counselor can dispense advice by phone or may be able to recommend someone local who can provide support and assistance.

Non-EU spouses who hold a residence/work permit because of ties to a Greek citizen retain their permits when domestic abuse has occurred, no matter how long the marriage lasted or the length of stay in Greece.

There is never a good reason to abuse a woman, man, child or animal.

Emergency Hotlines:

Police - Domestic Violence line in Greece
Tel: ‘179′

The National Center for Immediate Social Assistance
24-hour hotline
Tel: ‘197′

Counseling For Women Victims of Violence
SOS line
Tel: (210) 331-7305

SOS Support Line
Tel: (210) 644-2213

Tourist Police (for visitors)
French, German, Greek and English spoken
Tel: ‘171′

Non-emergency contacts:

Center of Family Support of the Archdiocese of Athens (KESO)
95 Akadimias
Athens
Tel: (210) 381-1274, (210) 384-1536

Center for Mental Health, Foreign Counseling
Tel: (210) 883-1784

Counseling for Women - Victims of Violence
Athens Office: 11 Nikis - Tel: (210) 331-7305/6
Piraeus office: 76 Alkiviadou - Tel: (210) 411-2091

International Social Service
Tel: (210) 321-7758

National Center for Immediate Social Assistance (EKAKB)
135 Vas. Sophias
Athens
Tel: (210) 649-7706

* I don’t have first-hand experience with any of these centers, and I welcome any further contact info that can be added to the list.

Fast facts

* Domestic abuse is defined by experts as a pattern of behavior used to establish power and control over an intimate partner
* It is a myth that domestic violence is committed by lower class people with low education levels
* It occurs just as often among educated doctors and lawyers, it’s not just lower class workers and drug addicts
* There are different forms of abuse: Physical (74%), emotional, psychological (often starts before marriage), verbal and $exual
* 1 in 5 women are abused and 20% of them report that the physical abuse started shortly after getting married and another 20% say it started after getting pregnant
* Only 1 in 20 will ever report it
* More than 30% of women who go to emergency rooms sustain injuries as a result of domestic violence
* Women will stay an average of 4 years in a relationship before leaving, whether by choice or an event that forces them to leave (permanent physical injury, death)
* Half of women murdered each year are killed by their spouse, boyfriend or partner
* Many women suffer from low self-esteem and blame themselves for provoking a man’s behavior — it’s not true!
* New laws will make it possible to arrest, charge and jail a violent spouse without a formal complaint
* Although 90% of women are abused, men are abused also

Related posts

“Friends minus two“
“Cockroaches and courthouses, landlords and leases“

Sources

- Some 28,000 cases a year of ill treatment and abuse (Kathimerini)
- Battling a hidden epidemic of child abuse (Kathimerini)
- SOS Children’s Villages in Greece provide refuge for the abused (Kathimerini)
- Abuse blamed for family tragedy (Athens News)
- Bill tackles family violence (Kathimerini)
- Domestic Violence in Greece (White Ribbon Campaign, Norway)
- Few battered women walk out on abuse (Athens News)
- Greece aims to curb pedophilia, domestic violence (Reuters)
- Greece fails to allocate funding for activities aiming to combat and prevent domestic violence; shelters remain empty due to insufficient protection and laws (Amnesty International)
- United Nations recommendations to Greece regarding domestic violence and other abuses (Greek Helsinki Monitor)
- Women called on to break silence of domestic violence (Athens News)

Article updated March 8, 2008

Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai are getting married today.

You may be asking yourselves, “who are these people and why do I care?” Fair enough, they’re not Greek and have nothing to do with Greece, but Ab and Ash are the Indian equivalent of Pitt and Jolie, thus representing the union of two of the richest, most recognizable families in India.

Rai is 33, the daughter of a highly educated family from Mangalore in south India. Her titles include Miss World 1994, Most Beautiful Face in the World, Time’s 100 Most Influential People, highest paid actress in India 2006, Most Attractive Woman 2004 by Hello magazine, 100 Most Beautiful People by People magazine, and the first Indian actress to be immortalized in wax and sit on the Cannes Film Festival jury (wearing a sari, no less). She also appeared on Oprah and David Letterman, has a tulip named after her in the Netherlands, acted in more than 40 films since 1997, and is the face of Pepsi and L’Oreal among others.

Bachchan is 31 and the son of famous film stars Amitabh ‘Big B’ (the most recognizable face in India, despite or because of his bad toupee) and Jaya Bachchan (now a politician) from Mumbai, and grandson of famous poet Harivansh Rai Bachchan. Abandoning his business studies in the USA to become an actor with his father’s blessing in 2000, he appears with his father in American Express commercials and has approximately 40 films to his name but with limited success until recently.

What makes this interesting is she is 33, two years his senior and marrying for the first time in a country where most women marry before they’re 20 or 25. Rai is also much more established and successful than her soon-to-be husband, who only rose to prominence in 2004. So why him?

The thing is, Rai is not just a pretty face. She speaks 4 languages, was training to be an architect before winning Miss World, is not fond of jewelry and thinks she’s “a normal woman with normal concerns.” She’s also had her share of problems finding a suitable husband, ending her two previous engagements to famous actors Salman Khan and Vivek Oberoi because of physical abuse and using her for self-promotion, respectively.

When you look at eligible bachelors with a pedigree in the film industry, is there anyone better than Bachchan to match her prestige? Even as Ab’s sister “warms” to Ash, his popular dad the “Big B” considers this a good match, not only being protective and supportive of the couple now, but also likely to be instrumental in making sure this merging of two film dynasties endures.

I myself think Ab always looks homeless and angry, and my fiance calls him the “ugly one from Dhoom 2.” (Note: The “hot one” is married with one child and occasionally makes racist remarks, which in my opinion makes him a lot less “hot.”)