Nutcracker try-out announcements were posted on Monday. Amilia, my nine-year-old granddaughter was cast as Clara. Our family went a little crazy with plans. My very important step-sister, a senior partner in her large law firm in Baltimore booked a flight. Other’s arranged small work vacations. We will board our dogs for the first time ever as there will be no available family member to dog-sit. The first weekend in December will be historical for our family.
“Mama, how you feelin’?” Trying to control the tremor in my voice, I’m pretty sure I sound perfectly normal.
“Oh you know, the usual, can’t sleep, my eyes sting, and I just cain’t seem to find my appetite.” My seventy-six-year-old mother begins most conversations with the same complaints.
“I’m sorry Mama.” No use offering suggestions anymore.
More chit-chat leads to the crux of the phone call. “Y’all going up to Charlotte for the Nutcracker?” She asks so sweetly and I want to scream, of course, what the fuck do you think? An extreme reaction you may think, but that is just because you may not be familiar with “southern mama guilt.”
She is really on a fishing expedition. Exploring the waters to make sure she will be the center of attention and not some other usurping fish. Her list of infringers is long as it includes anyone who commands attraction away from her. My husband is the Supreme King of her list. They no longer co-exist in any situation. His attendance at any event demands her retreat. He is more popular in her mind.
A comparison of two people: One, a female, raised by drunks. One, a male, raised by human wolves. The female learns to attract love by gaining attention, she craves the love of her unconcerned parents and so seeks it in other places. She discovers boys; coyness and sticky sweetness win them. She has a female child. At last, an object who returns love in just the way she desperately needs. The male seeks approval from his parents, finds none. He turns inward with self-loathing and outward with braggadocious behaviour. He is put out on his own far too early for a human child, he seeks approval through hard work. If no approval is forthcoming he will bare his teeth. He finds a mate who soothes his wounds and loves him as he is.
“Yes, I think my mother plans to attend.” My husband has begun his quizzing, I try to keep it casual.
“Fine, but I don’t have to make nice do I?”
“Well, I was hoping to avoid any unease at least for Amilia’s sake. It’s her night after all. This isn’t about you or my mother, this is about our granddaughter dancing the lead role.” I am bolder with my retort to my husband.
“Is she sitting near us?” He puts it plainly out there.
“Likely, I spoke to Katherine (our daughter, Amilia’s mom), and she says she has gotten a block of seat tickets.” My stomach starts the standard flip-flop.
In two months, two rows of twenty related people will be sitting together for the first time in several years. We will watch Amilia perform the role of Clara. It will be the season of Christmas for us. The season of goodwill toward men, (and women). We as a family will watch our darling girl.
I am nervous as a cat,caught between guilt/mother and loyalty/husband. This and that have led to years of separation between my husband and mother. Well, really, between my mother and a few others. Before December arrives, I want to put everyone into a deep sleep so that they will dream of sugarplums, snowflakes, and battles where right wins; then, wake to find Christmas has arrived in the form of one tiny dancer who can unite us all. Damn the wolves, the drunks, the guilt, the subtle and the bold intentions. Let January be full of happy family history.
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