On Meeting the Parents For The First Time
Will the fact that we’re different religions matter?
As a brown girl growing up in apartheid-era South Africa, I was no stranger to racism from both the White and Black communities. We weren’t white enough to be accepted in certain schools nor were we permitted to purchase homes in specific areas. Also, we couldn’t attend services in certain churches or even date across races.
Defying any of these, particularly the one regarding interracial dating could result in serious consequences, with legal repercussions being the least of our concerns.
However, what I recall the most was how my parents laid down the rules.
Dating was prohibited even within our ethnic group. Even if there was some leeway, the possibility of it happening was nonexistent because our community was overwhelmingly Muslim, and as staunch Catholics, my parents would have none of that.
That was not all. They, along with the broader community were adamantly opposed to any of their kids dating a Black man. The one time a young White Afrikaner formally requested my father’s permission to date me, my parents decided it was imperative to pack me off to boarding school — a strict Catholic one no less.
If one were to ask me if it was the concern for my innocence and by extension, moral prospects that led them to take the drastic measure of subjecting me to a 7-year confinement under the supervision of nuns, they would be right.
Yes, it might sound downright medieval but my parents were strict adherents to our traditional customs, especially regarding marriage. They desired I be married as per our customary practices — with my flawless reputation, among other things, intact and heaven forbid, any hint of blemish befall me before the sacred union.
Despite their dedication to those aspects, my parents failed to recognize that raising a daughter in an overly sheltered environment where obedience to the elders was the norm constituted a critical oversight on their part.
Yes, I bear some responsibility for unquestioningly accepting their authority as well as hesitating to end my marriage when the first serious cracks began to appear because I was reluctant to bring dishonor to my family.
You see, it is not only my religion that frowns upon divorce but our society in general that stigmatizes divorced women. In my home country, sadly, divorcees are treated as people with a contagious disease who must be given a wide berth lest it spreads. Not to mention that we are also viewed as morally lax because we don’t have a man to put a leash on us.
No surprise there considering it is a patriarchial culture that is built around fostering this type of ridiculous gender-biased narrative.
I have no qualms in saying that it was post-divorce that I started living my life to the fullest. Dating and exploring my sexuality has been an eye-opening and thoroughly enjoyable experience. It has broadened my perspective on what defines a healthy relationship which stands in stark contrast to all those times when I merely followed the lead of a husband who called all the shots.
People say what you do in your personal life is your business. It is true to some extent but for someone like me who is a quintessential daddy’s girl, I don’t like hiding things from my parents, especially not my father.
And more importantly, I am not ashamed of the choices I’ve made.
When I first disclosed that I was dating, I must say the responses of my parents were predictable. My father was alternately worried about the potential harm the new guy might cause and what people would think about a divorcee who was dating. As I said, they are old school.
On the contrary, my mother was more accepting. I don’t know whether her change of heart was due to her dementia or if she had mellowed with age but it was genuinely heartwarming to hear her say that me having a companion was a good thing. It brought tears to my eyes because I did not think they would be open-minded or supportive of my choices even though they are entirely mine to make.
Although my mother was excited about me embarking on a new relationship, my father was initially skeptical. It was almost as if he had made up his mind not to like my new boyfriend probably based on my previous negative marital experiences. However, my then-boyfriend managed to win them both over with his easygoing manner.
My mom was taken by his constant smiling nature. It helped that he is one of those rare people who have the inherent knack for making people feel comfortable around them and at the same time dispelling any negativity in the room.
And yet, knowing my parents, what probably endeared him to them was the fact that he met all the criteria a prospective husband for their daughter should possess.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that I was no longer interested in marriage — one time was more than enough. And I doubt the scars from that experience will heal anytime soon.
Probably a good thing too that I kept my thoughts on marriage to myself because after 3 years together, my ex-boyfriend and I decided to amicably part ways. I haven’t shared our breakup with my parents yet because I know they would be immensely disappointed.
They believe he is good for me and would never understand why I would give up a good thing.
Well, I had my reasons. Just because he is a genuinely good person does not mean he made for the best of partners. I simply wasn’t happy with him mainly on account of his workaholic mentality. Yes, I had walked into the relationship fully understanding the demands on a doctor’s time but when it whittled down to mere time windows for intimacy, I decided it best to move on.
I have since welcomed a new man into my life. He treats me like a queen and I must admit, I’ve never been happier. And yet, even after 5 months together, I haven’t found it in myself to broach the topic of our relationship with my parents.
For a couple like them who have been married for 50 years, the fact that I navigated a divorce not too long ago and seem to be in and out of relationships driven by happiness rather than practicality is going to be difficult to digest. But the real challenge here is not just that; I don’t think they will accept my new boyfriend on account of his religion.
Is it me overthinking when I imagine the collective intake of breath when I let the ball drop? I can almost my mother retreating inward surrounding herself with an impenetrable wall of silence as she tries to make sense of this news. I can almost feel the judgment in her eyes and the heaviness of the unspoken question, “Why?”
Me: “Because I love him, mom. And I am happy. Doesn’t that count?”
Mom: “But what was wrong with your other boyfriend that you had to leave him and take up with this new man who isn’t even of our faith?”
Me: “Because it doesn’t matter, not really. I married a Catholic as per your wishes and look at what happened. It is the person that matters, Mom. I see his heart, his kindness, and the way he treats me. For me, that is enough.”
Mom: “What will people say? What will our family say? You don’t think of any that when you do these things?”
Me: “I don’t want for us to quarrel, Mom. I love you and my father and it is not my nature to keep things such as my choice of partner from you. It is okay if you are not ready to accept him but at the end of the day, it is my life and my decision. It doesn’t mean I love you or him any less.”
While this is just an imaginary conversation my overthinking mind cooked up, it is based on past conversations I have had with my parents albeit not necessarily on the topic of love. In those instances, my father’s preferred response would be silence.
I hope they do keep a tiny window open in their hearts to give my new boyfriend and us a chance. There is no doubt in my mind that once they get to meet him, his different faith will be the last thing on their minds.
He has a way of captivating hearts, that way.