Ok here's my story.....
I had three X-mas's this year, because my boyfriend's parents are divorced, plus I flew back to NYC to see my family. So anyway my bf, Mike's, family gatherings were nice and calm, everyone there was very normal and educated and warm-hearted. It was fun, but there was no eggnog abuse or horseplay with the christmas tree. Then Mike and I got to New York and he met my family for the first time.
Ok my family is full of hillbillies. For hundreds of years they have lived in the backwoods of PA, mining coal and working in steel mills, brewing their own beer and distilling their own moonshine, no joke. My brother Don still makes his own alcohol in the backyard of his Levittown house. Since the steel mills have mostly shut down, disrupting the lives of most anyone from Pennsylvania, everyone from my generation has gone to college and moved towards the cities. But everyone still acts like obnoxious bumpkins who like to yell and drink. My parents ran a commune in West Virginia, called Group W, after the bench full of father-rapers in the Arlo Guthrie classic, "Alice's restaurant". So anyway, the big christmas party/reunion of these aging hippies, old hayseeds, and the people who love them starts, and right away they're reliving the time that there was a drug bust at Group W, back in 1976. A friend of the commune got wind of it, and warned my family to get rid of any evidence. So later that day, the feds surround the house, rifles aimed at the tie-dyed drapes that served for doorways, screaming "OUT WITH YER HANDS UP!!!" but they didn't find anything because my mom was downtown selling it all. Everybody was roaring with laughter at this story, and they all swigged their black&tans. Then came the stories of the pig neutering, the beehive attack, and the time my grandmother had a warrant for my mom's arrest because my mom was 34 and my dad was 17 when they ran off together. Nobody there had to watch their language in front of Mom, because her mouth is filthier than anyone's. For hours they all tried to outdo each other for the most outrageous story. Then they all got their guitars and played songs they wrote 20 years ago.
Finally the night wound down, and we were all sore from laughing and a bit drunk. I noticed Mike sitting quietly. Neither of us are fond of drugs, nor do we swear or drink much. So I was wondering how he felt. My last boyfriend, a proper Englishman from London, was terrified of my family. Mike simply said, "Interesting experience." My mom later pulled me aside, and said, "That's a nice boy, but he seems too straight-laced for you. Haven't you ever dated a musician?" I wonder if these two sides of my life will ever understand each other.