That’s how my parents are. There’s no deep dark family secret that nobody’s allowed to talk about, but they remind me of Mare Winningham’s parents in St. Elmo’s Fire - if it might make them think too hard about something unpleasant, they’d rather you didn’t bring it up at all, but if you must, at least whisper.
My family has things that are never, ever discussed and some things that are avoided as conversation topics but not verboten. My brother being one of the most racist people I’ve ever met and my cousin using more drugs than a pharmacy are only discussed in quiet, whispery tones and never with anyone who sees either of them on a regular basis. Most of the time it is not discussed at all and if you mention it the subject is quickly changed.
Then there was the fact that for a couple of years my parents were very afraid I was a lesbian. They never said anything about it but I could tell from the way they treated some of my roommates and stuff that they thought we were lesbian lovers. They would send birthday and christmas presents for them and invite them to family functions as though it was a silent acceptance of what they assumed was my lifestyle choice, which made me pretty happy that they would accept something they disagree with so fundamentally simply because they love me and it made me laugh because, while my pendulum has occasionally managed to swing the other way, I am primarily interested in men. Whenever I have a boyfriend they get so happy and I can tell that it is partly because they want me to be happy and partly because they are relieved that I am straight.
Other than me?
We don’t discuss my father’s murder very much. Not even when it happened.
Let’s see…
One of my aunts was raped before she was married, and her eldest child (with the same name as the rest of us) was the son of the rapist, not her husband. Of course, his father never treated him as anything other than a beloved son that I saw, so that may be an instance of “class” rather than “secrecy.”
My mother’s father, who abandoned his wife & children when mom was a baby, was half-white. Explains the tendency for very light-skinned children to pop up amongst us, I suppose.
My sisters get very upset when my favorite niece and my son’s sister talk about my deceased son. The two of them and I are the only ones who ever mention him. My sisters will allow my son’s sister to talk about him, but always hush my niece
The cousin I mentioned above was gay and died of AIDS. This is not discussed, and his long-time monogamous lover who nursed him through his final illness was called his best friend in the funeral, not allowed to sit with the family, and is no longer invited to family functions :mad: (Though I’m doing Christmas this year and that has been rectified.) Oh, and that cousin’s sisters is gay, and this is also not spoken of.
When my mother was in her final illness, no one used the word “dying” until the week she died.
My dad’s cousin has a son who’s probably, er, in his 20’s now and only she knows who the father is. It’s not that it isn’t talked about, it’s just that she refuses to divulge that information so nobody really asks. The most likely suspect is a guy who ended up in prison, oh 20 some odd years ago but nobody knows for sure.
The rest of the good stuff my mom spilled to me over a few pints when I was 18. I was now “old enough to know”. That was one jaw dropping evening.
We kept lots of things from my baby sister when she was growing up. Often I refused to go along; when our grandmother moved from her home state to our home to die, for instance, I figured a 12-year-old kid was old enough to know, and that letting the death be a surprise would be much, much worse. But other stuff–like the cousin born of rape–I kept to myself, telling her, when she’d ask, that I would explain it when she was 18.
Lo and behold! On her 18th birthday, I took her out to dinner, and she presented me with a list she’d been compiling for just this occasion.
It was a very long and awkward meal. Halfway through it she said, “Um, you know, I don’t actually want to know the answer to questions 12, 15, and 21.”
Well, to my knowledge the family Just Doesn’t Talk about my cousin who came out as gay. I hear his mother just about hit the roof when she found out (and demanded that he go to therapy, which I think he did), and his father had to up his blood pressure meds around the same time although I don’t know if the two are related or not.
At any rate, it certainly explained why he’d never had a girlfriend.
My family is for the most part pretty laid back about most things. Neither side seems to like making a big deal out of anything and will just deal with things as they come–if something isn’t talked about it’s mostly because no one cares.
So what were 12, 15, and 21? Inquiring minds want to know.
Talking about unpleasant or embarrassing subjects falls under the Things that Just Aren’t Done category in my family. My mom is very much the southern belle. We try to avoid politics, religion, money and personal issues such as lack of money, marital problems and sexual orientation. Strangely enough, we still manage to find things to talk about and we have a great time together, probably because teasing each other over stupid previous mistakes is fair game.
Still, we don’t talk about my sister and brother-in-law’s heavy debt thanks to student loans or the fact that they haven’t had time to have kids. Both are a huge sore spot with my sister.
We don’t talk about my mom’s drinking or conservatism or the differences in our political viewpoints.
We don’t talk about my BIL’s joblessness or my sister’s being stuck in a job that she hates because my BIL doesn’t have a job.
I think that it’s pretty normal in any family to tip toe around certain sore subjects. To what extent you walk on eggshells depends on your family.
My mom, who was a timid, phobic, family-oriented woman, moved all by herself away from her family and friends in Minneapolis to live alone in Southern California. This was in the mid-1940s, when women tended to move out only when they married. I always thought that this was very cool of her. She never talked about it much, though, and at one or two points during her life she let drop a couple of hints that she didn’t want to stay on in Minnesota to be thought of as a lifelong free servant to her dad and brothers. When her father died, she didn’t grieve and muttered something like, “. . . if he had been a better father . . .” By the time I realized that there was some untold story there, she was too old and far gone to talk about, and probably wouldn’t have revealed anything, either.
You mean like the affair my dad had when I was a teenager? No, we never talk about that. We could, I suppose, but why would we want to? It was a painful period for all of us, we’ve long since resolved everything we’re going to resolve, and dragging that dead horse out to beat on it would just stir up the stink again.
I think that’s the root of a lot of things families just don’t talk about. There’s no benefit to it, just pain, so you let sleeping dogs lie.
Exactly. My Mom had an affair when I was a teenager and I found out about it (accidentally) sophomore year in college and confronted her with it. My Dad came up to school and bitched me out royally. I was hurt and confused and it took a long time before we all got over it. Still have no idea if my brother knows. But, yeah, no good will ever come of even remotely alluding to it!
I had an older relative in the extended family who never told me she’d been previously married, but when she btrought it up in conversation, she thought I already knew.
No nuclear family secrets, no stalkers, no alcoholism, no incest, no secret nuns.
The People Who Live Upstairs.
I’m not kidding; my stepmother’s grandmother has two people (I think maybe her son and his wife) who live on the second story of her house. It’s not a forbidden topic at all, but no one ever goes up there, and they never come down. Because of this, I had no idea that they were there the first 5-6 times I went over there. That’s pretty weird.
And there is a gay guy in my mother’s side of the family, but I think people have pretty much gotten over that.
Valete,
Vox Imperatoris
ETA: My dad’s brother was also married before he married his current wife for a very short time, and so my cousin didn’t know about it until relatively recently.
What’d you do when you found them the first time, Vox Imperatoris? You never asked?
I’ve never seen them. I can’t remember how they came up in conversation, but someone mentioned them and then realized that my sister and I had no idea they were there. There’s no secret reason why they live up there; they’re just weird.
Valete,
Vox Imperatoris
Wow. They’re that quiet/secretive. Strange.
I wish I had something this interesting to reveal about my family. Or maybe I do and I just don’t know it yet.
A couple of weeks ago I started thisthread, about the fact that I know next to nothing about my paternal grandfather, since nobody ever talked about him.
Also . . . one of my cousins has cut off all communication with his brother-in-law. All he says is that the BIL confessed something to him that is totally evil and unforgivable, and now he can’t stand even being in the same room with the guy. My cousin is not a judgmental person and is usually very open-minded and forgiving. So the BIL must have confessed something really horrendous, to have affected him this way. But he won’t spill the beans.
I’m guessing pedophile.
Valete,
Vox Imperatoris
My mother was an intelligent, creative and very nurturing human being. But she had a mental block about anything psychological. Though both my brother and I have been on antidepressants for many years, she never acknowledged our depression, nor would she ever mention her own inner problems . . . and certainly not the many inner conflicts my father had during his lifetime. She had no trouble talking about purely physical medical issues, but never anything psychological. And she accepted the fact that I’m gay (and that she had a transsexual cousin), but would only discuss gay politics or culture . . . never acknowledging the fact that I have actual feelings toward another man.