I drove a long five hour trip from New York to Canada in order to go visit my boyfriend Alex. I really enjoyed my visits to his house. He lived with his parents in a nice middle class neighborhood. His family was Portuguese but spoke mostly French because they lived in a French speaking Province. I felt very welcomed by his family. They gave me a big hug and kiss on each cheek every time I went to their house. I learned that this was traditional, and done as a greeting every time someone entered the home or left.
Having come from a cold American culture where this was not common place it felt very uncomfortable to me, but at the same time it seemed like quite a loving tradition. I enjoyed the richness of a home with culture. Alex's father would tell me, "Eat, eat, you need to eat" while offering to have me taste the food from his plate. His mother would insist that I needed to at least have some bread and cheese.
To say, "No thank you, I'm not hungry" was not an option. I soon learned to politely make myself eat something no matter how full I was. It pleased them and made them happy.
Their son Alex would say, "She's not hungry!" in a very loud and persistent voice. I soon learned that this is the way the family communicated; in a loud way. It often sounded like they were shouting at one another. I would then remember my early childhood of being around Italians and realized they were much the same way. That in both cultures people just talked loud. To me it was a warm atmosphere. I liked it because it meant that there was life in the house.
I had come from a quiet house which had no extended family. So this was very pleasant for me. Alex's house was little but it was always stirring with activity and people. If there was one activity the family all shared and enjoyed, it was cooking. The whole house seemed to revolve around the kitchen. Alex's mother and father were always busy preparing food. On the counters were always little bowls of fruits, nuts and breads. I found it to be a very festive environment. The kitchen always felt comfortably warm and there was no need for a humidifier as something cooking always added moisture to the air. I would sit at the table just enjoying watching the kitchen windows steam up. After a long five hour drive I was always offered my favorite quick food by Alex's father, "Would you like some scrambled eggs?" he'd ask.
"Oh yes, with cheese added in them please." I replied.
"And some toasts?" he asked.
"Yes, the Portuguese bread please. I really love that bread, we don't have that in the states."
During one visit when I was at the kitchen table with his mother and sister, they said in so many words, "You know you are getting another child right?" I thought that was kind of insulting to Alex who wasn't in the kitchen at that moment. But, his mother told him in her own way, "I think Cassia makes a good mother figure."
I could only stay for a short weekend and then it seemed that almost as soon as I got there I'd have to leave again. I lived in Central New York in the United States while Alex lived in Canada. Not only was it a long drive for us to see one another, I also had to go through a border crossing just to get there. Each moment passed by so fast when we were together that we had to make the best of the short time we had.
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