There was one small lump of culture shock I couldn’t dodge when I met my wife’s family.
It’s not that they’re particularly odd. It’s just that, being from North Oyster, they’ve evolved some distinctly rural habits that have little, maybe even nothing, to do with the well water.
What struck me was how they differentiate friends from relatives who share the same name.
For instance, if they know two people, both named Darrell, but one’s a cousin, that one gets called Cousin Darrell. So, you have Darrell and Cousin Darrell.
I didn’t hear terms like “Cousin Darrell” much when I lived in cities. Then again, I never did even when I lived in the East Kootenays. Wait, that’s not true. I know families there who differentiate relatives from friends like that, but only the families that came from Saskatchewan and Alberta, which come to think of it is where some of my wife’s family is from.
The families I knew out there that came from Europe never called anyone “Cousin So-and-so” unless they were talking about a cousin distant enough to be practically unrelated, which often resulted in calling him “Uncle So-and-so”.
My wife’s family has had a few generations to become fluent with all the nuances of the rural relative designation system, but it doesn’t come as easily to us newcomers.
Cousin Bob, for example, really is a cousin, but I never figured out why he’s called “cousin” since I don’t recall any non-cousin Bobs ever being mentioned. He lives in Alberta. Works in the Oil Patch. Shoots entertaining videos whenever he vacations in Cuba.
There’s a Cousin Wayne, Cousin Cathy, cousin Lynn and a Cousin Leanne. They all live around here more or less. So does Cousin Ian, but nobody ever calls him Cousin Ian unless I get confused and need to ask which Ian they’re talking about.
There are three grandmothers, referred to as Grandma Next Door, Grandma Down the Street and Grandma Audre who lives in Arizona.
There’s Brother Lance and Sister Cindy, but the in-laws, me included, don’t get special designations because everyone seems to know who we are most of the time. When confusion arises we become Laurie’s Chris or Lance’s Tammy or Cindy’s Greg.
Sorting out who the real aunts and uncles are can be challenging too.
Uncle Bill and Auntie Martha are actually an aunt and uncle. Auntie Dorothy was an aunt too, but Auntie Shirley wasn’t. She and Uncle Ralph were friends of the family. So are Uncle Jimmy, Auntie Yvonne, Uncle Van, Auntie Charlotte, Uncle Ron, Auntie Rhonda and Auntie Gladys, who, from what I hear, nobody’s seen for quite a while.
Jack Spooner lived in a trailer in Oregon and used to drive up for extended visits, but I never could get a straight story about his connection to the family. My best recollection from the general speculation that arises every time I ask pegs him as a possible cousin (but nobody calls him “Cousin Jack) who my wife’s father ran into in Victoria one year. Nobody’s seen him for a while either.
Sometimes Brother Lance calls me his brother-in-law-who-really-isn’t-his-brother-in-law because I never married his sister. Their mother, Grandma Next Door, does something similar with “son-in-law”, usually followed up by, “Well, we’re really not sure what to call him.” Sometimes a mention gets tacked on about some church in Hawaii she figures would be a nice to get married in. She mentions her shotgun less these days. I don’t think she ever had one.
We go to Grandma Next Door’s for dinner every Wednesday and, being aware of my cholesterol issues and that I have no willpower over food, she stuffs me with everything I’m not supposed to eat plus desert. After all, indulging my overeating until it kills me is what I get for not marrying her daughter.
Sorting out who’s who in North Oyster can be a bit tough at times and the well water might smell and taste a little funny some months of the year, but at least the food’s good.
