Be Myself! - 8. Multicultural Salad

My parents were very pleased that Olivia’s parents answered so promptly to their request for social interaction, acting like the Viñas had passed some kind of test or ticked the first box of a long ‘Worthiness Checklist’. After some further texting between Olivia and I, our family dinner was arranged for Saturday night from six o’clock onwards. This meant dad and I went shopping early in the morning and mum spent the rest of the day busy with preparing a properly multicultural menu for the night. My parents were deeply proud of being a multi-racial couple and found pleasure in showcasing it at every opportunity. In this case it meant having German cuisine as starter, Indian main course and British dessert.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr and Mrs Viñas.” My mother greeted Olivia’s parents as soon as they crossed our front door. “I am Claire Schubert and this is my husband Joseph.” Olivia and a little red-haired boy exchange amused glances as their mother stepped forward to shake my mother’s hand.

“It is very nice to meet you too, Mrs Schubert. I am Miranda Savage and this is my husband Leopoldo Viñas.” Olivia’s mother, a rather formidable woman who wore no make-up and had the same red hair as her children, smiled pleasantly even as she subtly corrected my mother’s assumption about her family name. If my mother thought anything about this little exchange, she did not let it show. Ms Savage then motioned for Olivia and her brother to come forward and introduced them. “And these are our children, Olivia and Sam.”

When my parents laid eyes on my girlfriend, I could feel something in the atmosphere of the room changing. Olivia looked very much like she did at school: plain black trousers, a thick green jumper despite the warm room temperature and, like her mother, absolutely no trace of make-up anywhere in her face. Standing beside her I could see my parents’ gaze burning on her like she had already done something awful just by being there. I could almost hear them putting an angry cross on at least one of their mental check-list boxes.

“A pleasure indeed.” Mum managed to say, as neutrally as she possibly could. Hopefully Olivia did not notice anything. “This is Oscar.” She said, pointing to me. Olivia’s parents greeted me so warmly I felt my face heat up in a strange kind of embarrassment. Mr Viñas shook my hand animatedly while telling me what honour it was to finally meet the boy who cared so much about his daughter and Ms Savage asked if she could greet me ‘a la Spanish’, kissing me on the cheek a couple of times when I nodded.

“Oh, I’m sorry I made you blush!” she said when she noticed the colour my cheeks had become. “I have always been fascinated by the way Leopoldo’s family does things, and I have to admit I was quite taken by this particular custom.”

“So you are Spanish?” My father asked Mr Viñas, waiting attentively for the answer as if the success of the night depended on it.

“I was born in this country, but my parents are authentic Spaniards, yes.”

“Very interesting.” My father nodded in approval. I let out a breath I did not remember holding. “My grandparents came from Germany in the 1930s to get away from the Nazis. My father was just a little boy at the time. He grew up here and married a British woman.”

“And my mother was born in India and ran away to marry a white man. Sadly we have never had much contact with her part of my family because of that, though I would love to get to know them more.” My mother concluded the short introductory tale to our family’s history. There was an unmistakable pride in the way my parents spoke about the subject, particularly in my father’s case. He was always very keen to remind people that even though he was German our family had nothing to do with the atrocities of Hitler’s regime, sometimes even using my mother’s background as an example of his ‘open-mindedness’.

“Oh, this is fascinating! See, Leopoldo, you finally have someone to talk to about those things!” Ms Savage exclaimed, passing a hand around her husband’s shoulder. “My family history is a lot more boring than yours, I’m afraid: no immigration for the whole of the 20^th Century and a good chunk of the 19^th. It’s great to be in a truly multi-cultural space for a change!”

With this my parent’s heads raised a bit and they smiled pleasantly (most likely a couple of boxes had been ticked inside their heads). As they guided their visitors to the living room they shared funny anecdotes about their experiences in other countries.

(...)

The exchanging of amusing family tales kept the adults entertained until the main course. As far as I could tell, the evening was going very well despite the early misgivings. My parents seemed so keen to flaunt their love for cultural diversity to the other couple that they completely ignored Olivia, Sam and I, unless they wanted me to corroborate details of a story. Thanks to that, the three of us were able to have our own private conversation.

“So, Oscar, what are your intentions with my sister?” Sam asked as soon as he noticed the adults had turned the other way. He was obviously trying to be intimidating, but since he was not much older than eight, had a wild mane of red hair and a rather cute baby face, his efforts were completely wasted. From the corner of my eyes I caught Olivia trying not to laugh. I tried to at least pretend I was taking Sam seriously.

“I intend to make her laugh and help her get good grades on our exams this year.” I said as pompously as I could manage. Olivia lowered her head and covered her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Thankfully Sam’s attention was so focused on my face he did not seem to notice it.

“That’s bull. I know you just want to take her to your room and do grown-up things with her!” The young boy spouted as if it was completely normal for a child his age to know about those things. My first reaction was to let my mouth drop and my eyes widen in surprise, followed closely by sending a scared glance towards my parents. Had they heard Sam’s blunt declaration, this evening would probably be over before we could blink.

“Sam, what did mum say about talking like this to other people?” Olivia reprimanded her brother, somewhere between amused and worried. “Oscar’s family doesn’t talk about those things in public.”

“No? Meh, that’s boring. So you don’t talk about the whole gay thing either, do you?” Sam answered, crossing his arms in front of his Sponge Bob T-shirt and looking rather cute for someone who was pouting. I glanced at my parents again, but thankfully my father did not seem to hear any of Sam’s words, entertained as he was telling our guests about how his first girlfriend, a black girl from his school, dumped him for a ginger boy one year her senior.

“No, and you must not talk about it either. You can ask those questions when Oscar comes visit us.” Olivia reprimanded him again, this time more rashly. Sam probably got the message, because his next conversation topic was definitely safer.

“So, Oscar, what is your favourite cupcake flavour?”

(...)

The general mood at the table remained pleasant as we ate away our griensnockerlsuppe (semolina dumplings soup). Olivia’s parents also shared some stories, so among other things I learned that the family spoke Spanish at home and visited the rest of the Viñas in Spain every Christmas. My father used to opportunity to lament that his family was not bilingual too and how sorry he was that his father had been encouraged to learn English and forget German and how he was always told to never teach German to his children. My father then added that he was getting around this problem by ‘encouraging’ me to learn German at school and supervising my studies to make sure I learned it properly.

“Ah, I see.” Ms Savage said, turning her attention to me. Everyone apart from Sam had finished eating already. “You seem very keen on getting back to your roots. I’m assuming you are learning your Indian grandmother’s language as well?” Olivia’s mum smiled strangely and dad jumped to answer her question before I could even process it.

“No, he is not. We decided it would be too much for him. Besides, Claire has no contact with her Indian family, so it defeats the point. And German is a much more useful language.”

“Ah, I see.” Mr Viñas commented, his expression an eerie imitation of his wife’s. “Yes, I suppose German would be more useful, even though India is a rising economy and has about a seventh of the Earth’s population…”

My father’s expression changed just slightly. There was a warning flash in his eyes and he spoke in a harsher tone than before. “India is a very diverse place with many different languages. German is more useful in this continent, and I don’t think Oscar is planning to ever move that far away anyway.”

“Well, at least we all agree Britain is part of Europe…” Mr Viñas smiled, putting the conversation back on a safer track. Ms Savage snorted and mum lifted the corner of her lips after sending her a mildly reproachful glance.

The relief did not last long, however. When mum brought the next course, curry rice, Olivia’s family exchanged worried glances, prompting Ms Savage to speak in an apologetic tone that seemed rather uncharacteristic of her.

“Oh, I’m sorry we forgot to mention it, but how spicy is the curry? Olivia and Sam have rather unsavoury reactions to most spices. This is quite embarrassing; we don’t want to make a fuss about it, but on the other hand...”

“The rice is not spicy, but the curry is very hot.” Mum answered in a sour tone. “If I had been told earlier I would have thought of something more ‘fitting’ for your needs.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind eating just the rice.” Olivia answered, addressing my parents directly for the first time. “I’m used to it, anyway.”

“Yeah, when we visit nuestros abuelos in Spain it’s like that too!” Sam added, rolling his eyes as if annoyed by a particular memory. “Abuelita Elvira always complains that she has to make special food for us and that she doesn’t feel like a proper cook when we eat at hers.”

Probably because Sam was small, young, and kind of cute, my parents smiled at him and agreed to give just plain rice to him and his sister. However the atmosphere at the dinner table undeniably changed after that. It was as if by opening her mouth Olivia had reminded my parents that she was there, that she did not look anything like Wendy, and that they did not like it one bit. Our family dinner could probably still have been saved if my father had not suddenly decided that Olivia’s lack of femininity was an adequate topic to discuss over the spicy curry.

“It must be a hassle to have ‘special needs’ children…” My father began, not making any effort to hide who he was talking about. His eyes were fixed in Olivia like a hawk in its prey. “…so many things to learn to cope with, it is quite understandable that sometimes even our best efforts don’t accomplish much.” Noticing that Mr Viñas and Ms Savage looked puzzled and Olivia sank her body into the closest she could get to a round shape while sitting at a table, my father decided to elaborate his ideas further. “It takes so much energy to raise a daughter like that you must not have had the time or even the patience to give her the proper education expected of a young lady. And it is not hard to extrapolate that the mother is so overworked by dealing with the children all the time she has not got the capacity to properly take care of her own needs.”

Even someone with the weakest social skills could notice Olivia’s parents’ efforts to keep their jaws in place and their hands away from my father’s face. Without looking at each other, the couple took a simultaneous deep breathe and closed their eyes. Mr Viñas sighed. His wife slowly turned to face my mother, then my father, and finally held her gaze somewhere between Olivia and I.

“A small allergy like that is hardly any trouble. I don’t think Olivia and Sam qualify as ‘special needs children’. If they did, I am sure we would be cashing on some big government money by now.” She grinned encouragingly to her daughter and turned to my parents again. Her face was blank, but a dangerous fire burned behind her eyes. “Though I suppose we could take your suggestion on board and see if the government buys our excuses.”

“Britain’s benefit system is not to be taken lightly. It was set up for people who need money to survive, not for those who cannot eat proper food.” My father replied, holding Ms Savage’s gaze with an intimidating scowl of his own. I kept my head low and tried my best to keep looking at my food, though at this point I did not feel like eating anymore.

“Well, then you should stop making stupid assumptions about my children. I won’t go as far as saying you were insulting them…” Ms Savage almost glowed as she said that word “…because it would be implying that being disabled or having special needs is a bad thing, but I still take offence that someone like you would put up such an antiquate attitude.”

“If that is so, I take offence that neither you nor your daughter felt this dinner was worth a minimum standard of care.” As the argument carried on, Olivia and I tried our best to disappear from everyone’s radar. One quick look at my girlfriend’s face revealed she was beginning to cry, probably reliving her old nightmares. Sam, on the other hand, observed the heated interactions with obvious delight.

“If what you consider ‘minimum standard of care’ consists of stuffing mine and my daughter’s face with some chemical powder, covering our lips in some disgusting coloured paste and wearing stupidly uncomfortable clothes just because chauvinistic pigs like you can’t stand to see real women, then yes, I’m glad I have none of those so called ‘standards’.”

“Mr Viñas, your wife is losing control. Please stop her.” My mother urged, looking at Ms Savage like she had contracted the plague.

“Me? Stop her? Why should I? Miranda is not a child that needs to be controlled.” Olivia’s father answered, grinning slightly. “She is a fully-grown human being like you and I, and with just as much brain matter.”

“She is your wife; put her back in her place.” My father insisted, so disgusted by the situation he almost spat at the table.

“One: stop referring to me like I’m not even here.” Ms Savage butted in, her voice so low it would have scared away most young children. Sam was probably used to it, though, because at this point his grin attained epic proportions. “Two: my place is where I want it to be. And my daughter’s place will be where she damn well please. We don’t need 19^th Century trolls like you telling us what to do.”

“You are being unreasonably rude, Ms Savage.” My father pointed out, holding his knife and fork like he hoped they would morph into long swords.

“I wasn’t the one who was using misogynist and disablist language to try insulting my children. You know, just because you happen to have been born in a multicultural family it doesn’t automatically make you a good person. I feel sorry for Oscar. He deserves better parents.”

“You will not insult me and my family in this house!” My father stood up, banging his hands on the table. I automatically tried to cower under the table, but my body ended up falling in Olivia’s lap. Hoping my parents would not notice what was going on around us, I did not try to get back up. “I have never felt so insulted in my life. We put so much work to make you feel welcomed here and you spit at our faces. I am sorry for your children, who will never know what a proper education is.”

“Oh, really? What do you consider a ‘proper education’, then?” Mr Viñas spoke, though because my head was still buried in Olivia’s lap I could not see what he was doing. “Forcing your children into pre-conceived moulds of false ideals? Maybe beating these ideals into their bodies?” My body froze with shock, and my state of panic I thought I heard Olivia gasp. “I don’t know if you have heard, but this style of education has been discredited quite a few decades ago.”

“And since then our youth has only got more perverted. It is about time someone takes a stand.”

“I will not put up with this.” Ms Savage stood up. Olivia’s body straightened and I was forced to raise my head too. “Thank you for your ‘hospitality’, if it can be called that, but I think our family has overstayed our welcome. I don’t need to force my children to be exposed to your antiquated prejudices, and I can only hope Oscar will find a way of turning out better than either of you. Then, again, this is probably not that difficult, considering where your standards lie…”

Not many words were spoken as Ms Savage motioned for the rest of her family to get up and walk away. Sam seemed disappointed that the row was over so soon, but Olivia looked so hurt and shocked that for a moment I thought I should follow them and do all I could to make her feel better. Then I felt my father’s hand in my shoulder and my mind sank back to reality.

“You must find a new girlfriend soon.” My father announced, looking at the door that Ms Savage had just banged with more force than necessary. “I am slightly disappointed that you did not manage to get anything better at your school, but I suppose after the rumours it was to be expected.”

“You will not speak to those people until school starts.” My mother carried on, moving to clear the table. “At school you can keep up appearances so others won’t get the wrong idea about you again, but please do your best to move on to someone who actually deserves you.”

“Yes, mum.” I whispered, not looking at either of my parents. I knew fully well that I was lying then, but strangely it did not feel as bad as it used to. There was even a tiny part of my brain that insisted in congratulating me for my act of courage.

Without really thinking about it, the first thing I did when I found myself enclosed in the safety of my room a couple of minutes later was to take my mobile phone out of my pocket and text Olivia. At that moment I felt I needed to know she would be ok more than I needed to obey my parents.

‘Sam is making ridiculous impressions of your parents right now. I think I can survive ;)’ she answered me almost immediately. It was only when relief flooded my systems that I fully realised what I had just done.

‘My parents told me not to speak to you until school is back.’ I texted her, half amused and half baffled by my small act of spontaneous rebellion.

‘Do you feel like doing it?’ Olivia asked, and surprisingly my fingers did not hesitate to write my answer.

‘No.’

I pressed the ‘send’ button and, before it dawned on me that I had just orchestrated my biggest revolt against parental rule since I was five years old, a shy grin found its way to my lips. After the realisation hit home, it became a full blown smile, and it felt like the best thing in the world.