Hidden in plain sight
My father's parents passed away nearly twenty years ago. They were kind, open-hearted people who had many friends and cared a lot about them. When I was a kid in the early 1970s we used to spend Midsummer's Eve (an important family event in Sweden, think Thanksgiving, I guess) with them. Some of their best friends also came along to celebrate. Being a kid, I didn't think much about it or wonder why those friends didn't stay with their own families. As was the custom in those days with friends of your family, I addressed all of them as "uncle (name)" or "aunt (name)" and that was that.
My older sister was a lot closer to them than I was, and in particular she and my grandmother were very open to each other. My sister probably knew more about our grandparents and about the back stories of my grandparents' friends than anyone else of our kin. After they died, my sister shared some of the stories with me, so I knew about the friend who was depressed and suicidal and whom my grandparents would check on regularly; if he phoned my grandfather would drop everything to have a chat with him. The usual thing that happened to depressed people in those days was to be ostracized, which I guess didn't really help much.
This summer I was told about another friend. This man used to arrive in his car looking a bit stressed out and haunted, but when he was greeted by my grandparents he would relax visibly and be all smiles the rest of the day. My sister told me about the time before I was born, when this friend moved to Stockholm to live in a relationship that by that time was legal but in no way socially accepted. I was told of how painful it was for both my grandmother and him when she asked if she could come visit them, and he couldn't let her. Then the relationship ended, he moved back and my grandparents and he renewed their friendship, never letting go again. It was easy for them to forgive him, because they actually understood how hard it was when your love is taboo (my father was conceived out of wedlock, so they had some idea to begin with).
My head swam a bit when my sister told me this. I had never realized. No one had ever even hinted that there was something out of the ordinary with this man, he was just another good friend. I said to my sister that I was glad that my grandparents had been so progressive in a very intolerant time.
Yes, my sister said. And then, she countinued, there was V[...] and I[...], who moved from their parish because of intolerance and were welcomed by our grandparents...
And I almost laughed out loud from sheer surprise. Aunt V[...] and aunt I[...]? They were queer? They were a couple? No way!
I had the coolest grandparents.
My older sister was a lot closer to them than I was, and in particular she and my grandmother were very open to each other. My sister probably knew more about our grandparents and about the back stories of my grandparents' friends than anyone else of our kin. After they died, my sister shared some of the stories with me, so I knew about the friend who was depressed and suicidal and whom my grandparents would check on regularly; if he phoned my grandfather would drop everything to have a chat with him. The usual thing that happened to depressed people in those days was to be ostracized, which I guess didn't really help much.
This summer I was told about another friend. This man used to arrive in his car looking a bit stressed out and haunted, but when he was greeted by my grandparents he would relax visibly and be all smiles the rest of the day. My sister told me about the time before I was born, when this friend moved to Stockholm to live in a relationship that by that time was legal but in no way socially accepted. I was told of how painful it was for both my grandmother and him when she asked if she could come visit them, and he couldn't let her. Then the relationship ended, he moved back and my grandparents and he renewed their friendship, never letting go again. It was easy for them to forgive him, because they actually understood how hard it was when your love is taboo (my father was conceived out of wedlock, so they had some idea to begin with).
My head swam a bit when my sister told me this. I had never realized. No one had ever even hinted that there was something out of the ordinary with this man, he was just another good friend. I said to my sister that I was glad that my grandparents had been so progressive in a very intolerant time.
Yes, my sister said. And then, she countinued, there was V[...] and I[...], who moved from their parish because of intolerance and were welcomed by our grandparents...
And I almost laughed out loud from sheer surprise. Aunt V[...] and aunt I[...]? They were queer? They were a couple? No way!
I had the coolest grandparents.