When Your Parents Become Your In-Laws

Get your head out of your ass, there is no squickyness here.

My wife and I have been together for about ten and a half years (holy shit), and in that time my relationship with my family has taken several plunges.

Especially as I've grown and surrounded myself with growing people, and realized that most of my relatives do not fit this description, having stagnated either before I was born or at some point in my childhood or adolescence.

This is especially true of my parents, whose old-time-small-town religion has grated on me more and more as I've grown and bonded with people who are the opposite (whether still spiritual, agnostic, or decidedly atheist) and who demonstrate much greater empathy and intelligence.

While I always knew of my parents' proclivities regarding those who are different, it wasn't until I married my then-girlfriend, and proceeded to live an adult life vastly different from theirs, that it truly hit home.
Moreso since they apparently feel carte blanche to take spiritual potshots at my wife as not only their right, but their duty.

Even though I had made it as clear as I could very early on that she had not been raised in church, and had not been taught to treat church membership as a fundamental need.

I'm not sure how they interpreted my efforts at specificity and clarity, but one unsuccessful game of Bible Trivia at their house after we had been married for a little while threw them into a moral panic, peppered with phrasing like "You gotta get that girl in her Bible!" or "Is she just riding your coattails?"
A storm which we rode out, got home, high-fived, fucked, and went on living OUR life as WE saw fit.

It wouldn't be as deep or as frequent an irritation if my parents were gradually settling down to permanently occupy a set of comfy chairs in front of the TV like good little elderly bigots.
They live seven hours away, and typically don't harass us over the phone.
Unfortunately, they apparently suffer from the Baby Boomer deathly fear of growing old, and the subsequent inability to be content in one spot.
Thus, they are, to quote my or a later generation, "all up in our bizz," assuming that our residence is available as a place to stay when they are in town (almost every month, sometimes multiple times per month), questioning everything we do (and questioning several things we avoid doing specifically because they want us to do them), and generally demonstrating every stereotype associated with invasive in-laws, but inflicting the stereotype upon BOTH of us.

To the point that I've almost stopped referring to them as "my parents" when in pleasant company, instead calling them "my wife's in-laws".

How did I get to this point?

Well, old-time-small-town religion doesn't really have much for a boy to bond with his father aside from the typical redneck pursuits.
Which my dad wasn't into anyway, so that whole book was never even opened.
He was a raging alcoholic without any need for alcohol (plus my hometown was a dry county up until a few years ago), with nowhere to throw his random fits of fury except outward, at whomever happened to be in range.
There wasn't much physical violence, but for a child a parent who randomly flies into a screaming rage doesn't inspire trust or confidence.
That he also seemed in a constant state of at at least annoyance with someone somewhere didn't help, as I was quickly Pavlov'd into thinking he would fly off the proverbial handle at any moment, and kept my distance.
Which pissed him off, of course.
I wasn't able to stand up under the screaming until I was in high school, by which point I had been in enough fights to shout right back at him to bring it on (perhaps hoping a knockdown drag-out would finally settle it and let me move on).
He never took me up on that offer, of course.
Now he's in his seventies, and beating the living shit out of him probably wouldn't help anyway.
Plus he's a broken record since having a stroke and being reduced to spouting Bible verses constantly, likely due to that part of his memory being much more concrete than math or music and thus less subject to loss via brain damage (thanks to my wife for pointing that out after years of irritation).

As for my mother, old-time-small-town religion gives plenty of opportunities for a son and mother to bond, especially when the latter is a musician.
I studied voice and piano, and eventually trombone, and had many performance opportunities through our church.
And given that both of us were subject to the above random fits of rage, I would cling to her most of the time.
She enjoyed my confidence much longer than my father (if the latter EVER enjoyed it), and I even married a woman similar to her in many ways (favorite color, sung voice part, chosen profession, etc.).
But as I've grown and have experienced the world, my filter for what I can and cannot discuss with my mother has broadened and thickened.
And she too became a broken record eventually, based on her assumption (being a preacher's kid) that one NEEDS to attend church in order to have a community, or that one NEEDS to memorize the Bible to empathize with others and treat others as one wants to be treated.



I have friends whose parents were similar when we were children, but who have grown (along with their children) into people who actually live in the real world, and thus my friends can enjoy intimate relationships with them, with little or no filtering and little or no fear of judgment or moral panic.


I cannot express the depth of my envy for them.