Debby Does…

I’m an only child of an only child, married to an only child, and not very close to much of my recently deceased, and long estranged, father’s family. It makes holidays different. You’ve got to make your own family!

For 51 years, our family home on the Jersey Shore, where we lived year round, was the gathering place for holidays, summer weekends, and special occasions. We took in everyone who, for whatever reason, had nowhere else to be. This was true with my grandparents and then my mom and then, as I got older, Jim and I took up that cause. Our door was always open, the fridge was full, and you could help yourself to whatever struck your fancy. Those were the house rules.

This sort of philosophy of open tables and open doors made for some very interesting dining companions. For many years, we welcomed a trio of charming Jewish bachelors for Thanksgiving, as well as college and theater friends away from home with limited time off, doctors and nurses on call, folks struggling with their families, and people who thought their family’s food was second rate compared to ours. From the late morning appetizer spread to the “second dinner” round later in the evening, we all enjoyed each other’s once a year company and found common ground in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the National Dog Show, and, of course, football.

Christmas Eve, before we began spending the holiday in Florida, was an open house for anyone and everyone who wanted to join. From dentists to opera singers, teachers to artists, hairdressers to hedge fund managers, we had a full house and our “framily” had full bellies after a night featuring overflowing trays of passed hors d’oeuvres, sliced beef tenderloin with horseradish sauce, and bûche de Noël for dessert. Cocktails flowed freely and laughter rang out across the rooms. Talented friends played the piano and the singers among us joined in to the delight of our guests.

I began to see our dining room table as an opportunity. There were stories to be heard, lessons to learn, and tolerance to gain. There were two ladies that frequented our table, as friends of my grandparents, that have always stayed in my memory as special people who were the same as family. And, judging by the birthday cards and little gifts, they viewed me and my mine the same way. Expanding the guest list at your dining room table is truly a chance to expand your mind and your heart. I think I knew this very early on.

Mrs. Oberdier was a friend of my grandparents from York, Pennsylvania. I’m certain that she had a first name, but I have no idea what it was. We were very much a call people by their proper titles kind of family. I’m not even sure how they met, but it seems to me that she and her husband were patients of my grandfather’s general medical practice. They were both obese, from what I could see in pictures, and I don’t recall ever meeting her husband. He died when I was quite young and, because she was alone, my grandparents included her in lots of their plans. She was a master seamstress and a witty conversationalist, but that’s not what I remember. I just remember the sound of her dentures. As she would eat, the little clack, clack, clack of her ill fitting dentures provided an odd staccato accompaniment to the meal and the chatter. She never seemed to notice and, when I brought it up to my mother, I was quickly admonished for being rude and told to ignore it. I never did. I watched her eat with an incredible sense of fascination, but never disgust. I sort of liked the noise. It felt friendly and companionable and proved that she was enjoying every bite.

Another frequent guest of my grandparents was a sweet elderly lady named Gladys Cody. Now, they always referred to her that way, so I knew her first name, but I called her only Mrs. Cody. A widow, she continued to wear all black and high button shoes, even in the warm summers of the 1970’s. Her hair was shiny and onyx colored, styled like Olive Oyl from Popeye with finger waves under a hairnet. Her big blue eyes blinked at you with great curiosity and interest behind eyeglasses as thick as Coca Cola bottles. She had been a piano player for the silent movies on the boardwalk and, many visits, after I begged, she would sit at our old piano and play the most exciting music. As she aged, my mom and I would stop by her little apartment in the south end of the island to drop off meals and treats. She was always impeccably dressed and easily one of the most delightful people I had known at that young age.

How lucky I was to meet these two ladies and so many other characters that came in and out of our home!

I know that lots of people dread holidays and gatherings with their families. While we may be related, we are not always relatable! I have always been grateful that I got to handpick my logical family. And, while it’s true that there is often eye rolling and head shaking at each other, the knowledge that we chose to come together out of love and joy, instead of obligation, is a beautiful thing. I learned that at my grandparents’ table.

So, today, on Easter, just like Christmas and Thanksgiving and all the other holidays, I’ll look at your beautiful, loving families gathered together and feel a little lonely, wondering what that must feel like. I always do, but I then, I look across the room at the one I’ve chosen to spend my every day with and know that my little life is just as it should be. And, you should know that on any day, at any time, if you find yourself without biological family, you can be an honorary part of our logical family. The door is open, the fridge is full, help yourself!