I ended my Memorial Day Sunday at a local 50's diner with my brother, Sister-in-law, and the kids.
Six years ago, my then live-in boyfriend that would eventually become my hubby, told me about an annual Memorial Day party at a friends house. He missed going since his divorce and thought it was time to visit his friends; and, introduce me in the process.He had just moved in and a week prior had given me my engagement ring. I was already very careful of who to share our engagement with, especially since he had two older daughters that were less than supportive about us. My traditional family had just found out about our relationship, and living in sin was not well received.
To say that I was stressed about this annual event filled with people that knew nothing about us, let alone me, was nothing less than scary.
To prepare for this party, I did what most women would do, shopped. I picked a beautiful white linen outfit and also hand-picked what my hubby would wear. "What should we take?" I asked my hubby, but he insisted that we simply just show up.
The party was in a suburb of Los Angeles, about 40 miles north of where we live. The community was your stereotypical cookie-cutter master planned community in the middle of the dessert. I was completely out of my element. The guests were inebriated PTA moms, uninterested soccer dads, and a slew of kids high on sugar and soda.
My first interaction with this group of friend was a woman running towards my boyfriend, reaching towards his heck and kissing him on the lips. I was in shock. That action was then followed with commentary about my outfit and how my hubby was dressed. "Wow, she's already changing you - you have never looked this nice," said his supposed friend. I wasn't amused but smiled out of courtesy.
What followed later was sheer comedy. I was either ignored, or the people kind enough to care who I was, were actually friends of my hubbys x-wife, spying on her behalf. Conversation revolved around kids, Costco purchases, and home remodels. I had nothing to contribute to the conversation, and as nice as I was, I was miserable.
By the end of the party, the same woman that greeted my hubby in an overtly inappropriate way mentioned how "I never imaged that he would end up with a woman like you." I didn't care to ask what she meant mostly because I was holding back my shock and anger.
The following year we were married and went out of town. The guilt trip we were dished for not going to this party was seriously - uncalled for. This was, according to his suburban friends, a tradition - and how dare "I" break tradition? I promised that I would be there the following year - but I have never forgotten about this comment and realized that some folks don't want to see others happy (in their marriage).
The second time I went to this party, I invited my mom and one of my brothers - hoping to at least have a couple of friendly faces to look over me. My brother later told me that there was something "fake" about the entire thing. My mom couldn't get passed the stay-at-home-mom who's breasts were hanging over her ill-fitting bikini. Conversations, as I came to find out by my limited interaction with these friends, revolved around money and anything suburbia. Again, I was miserable.
The next time I went, I took a friend. We hung-out by the pool and pretty much limited our conversation time with the PTA moms. Again, all conversations were focused on buying homes, investments, money and Costco (does everyone in Suburbia shop at Costco?!). By this time, I could tell that all the friends were upping one another. I didn't want to be part of this. I am not part of this.
By the fifth time this party was due to come up, I put my foot down. "I am not going to this party. You can go by yourself." I told my now hubby. He mentioned being embarrassed, that his parents would show up so I would have someone to talk to, to ignore the indiscretions - anything really - but please come. I refused. I could care less what he told his friends. They were HIS friends, not mine. That was last Memorial Day weekend. We fought before Memorial Day and after. I honestly don't remember what I did - but I was not part of that party.
This year I wanted to leave town, but school got in the way. When the invite came, I told my hubby the same thing I did last year - but this time a bit calmer. "Why do you even want me to come? Your friends don't like me, I don't like them - just spend time with them and I will do my own thing." Again, hubby insisted that I go, that I would make him look bad, to ignore the inappropriate conversations, and just come. I didn't.
This year plans just happened, and got better before the day arrived. Memorial Day Sunday, I did everything I loved -from spending a day at the beach, window shopping, cooking at home and dining out- with the people I love and I had an absolutely FANTASTIC time.
There was a lot of laughing, reminiscing, creating new memories, and not one bit of suburban gossip or forced conversation.
Yes, my hubby went to his party. And yes, he told me a bit of what happened. And yes, I don't regret one bit not being there - and it's perfectly OK that he went by himself.
I'm so glad I leaned in and put my foot down on something that not only made me miserable, but that also created drama in our relationship.
Hooray for leaning in.
