first impressions

You’ve seen it in movies. Maybe even lived through something similar yourself.

Girl brings home suitor. Father tries to frighten suitor. For real or for jest. With harsh words. An intimidating stare.

Pa used arms the size of tree trunks and a highly arched brow. A friend’s dad employed over the counter drug tests. “Here. Pee in the cup.” The old codgers from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers used guns. Lined up the boys and whipped out the rifles.

Mine used dynamite.

T was the first and last guy I ever brought home to meet the family. I was 25. We’d been together for two years and it was his first visit to Appalachia. I should have been shocked by it all. I wasn’t. Not that I expected my father and his pack of dark-eyed brothers to blow up the mountain, close down the only road out and block any chance of escape for a good portion of the day. But I didn’t not expect it either.

I imagine most guys would prefer a urine test to what looked like an Al Qaeda training camp full of angry Syrians – My brother has long jested that my dad and his sibs should lay low until the whole ‘terrorism threat’ blew over lest some flag-happy hillbilly mistake one of them for an ace of clubs and shoot their heads off – but T didn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, the only thing he ever said about the whole thing was “I knew America was different, but….”