The Velvet Bridge
by
Anita Stubbs
This true-to-life rags to riches tale, my first novel, is set during WWII and could have actually happened if not for one thing: Mattie Featherstone never existed, other than between the covers of this 381-page book. But the lifestyles, the culture of the time, and some of the places ring so true, you'll wonder. It's classic 1940's, Dallas, Texas, in and around Oak Cliff.
Too young to be
widowed and too pretty to be alone, Mattie Featherstone is both. Suddenly
impoverished, this confused, tormented woman abandons her children and seeks
refuge in an encampment for vagrants situated near the Trinity River on the
west side of Dallas during World War II.
When a twist-of-fate encounter eases Mattie out of destitution into the
genteel world of her paper doll dreams, she manages to conceal the truth
about her past from her benefactors. She even justifies - in her own mind -
the abandonment of her daughters.
However, everything changes when yet another unforeseen event turns her life
into sensational headline news, revealing more than even she could imagine.
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Mother-in-Law/Daughter-in-law
Instinctually, I had peripheral vision when my children were young. My heart quickens still at the very sight of them, and knots into pain when they are in trouble or hurting. As a teenager, I had helped care for my baby brother so I possessed skills beyond the instinctual—basic nursery skills—before actually giving birth. For instance, I knew how to make formula, how to dress, burp, bathe, and properly diaper and handle a newborn. In general, I knew how to keep my babies happy and healthy pretty much through the toddler stage. Beyond that, about all I had to rely upon was a hit and miss kind of logic. This commonsensical parenting method was the guidepost upon which I could hang my maternal successes and failures.
So, as a parent armed with Fifties-based judgment and a mother’s timeless intuition, I waded gingerly through the maze of the Sixties and Seventies. I struggled to pull my family and myself, both mentally and physically, through the confusing and trying times of simultaneous child rearing and marriage building. Somehow, we made it. A bit scarred, shaken, and frayed around the edges, I will admit, but nevertheless, whole—our family intact.
The next thing I knew, we had topped our mountain and like a bright light from heaven, the Eighties’ window opened. We all stood there as a single unit looking out over the vast unknown. Like a collaged landscape, the new decade lay before us, an awesome panorama shrouded in mystery and invitation. Clutching my reliable logic and inbred instincts tightly like a magician’s trusty bag of tricks in one hand, and my husband and children in the other, we moved into a new period of individual learning and separate pathways, into new roles and responsibilities. Into extended family matters where our adult children became spouses themselves. I had no choice but to roll with the flow.
A son is a son until he takes a wife. A daughter is a daughter for all of her life.
There are two brands of mothers-in-law: the son-in-law variety, and the more intricate daughter-in-law kind. I happen to be each. Comparatively, the mother-in-law/son-in-law relationship is not one to cause me concern or anxiety, for it is not, in my opinion, as complex a relationship as the other. Certainly, there are volumes of jokes and witticisms to the contrary, ridiculing the wife’s mother—that old battle-ax—the mother-in-law. But, for the most part, these are harmless jibes poked in fun, to entertain the son-in-law’s buddies, the same caliber of humor as those ridiculous blonde jokes, the “little woman” jokes, and “you know you are a Red Neck if” anecdotes.
In reality, that same jesting son-in-law more often than not accepts his wife’s mother for exactly the person she is—the mother of his wife, no more or no less. His relationship with her normally follows the wife’s lead. I have made an interesting observation about happily married husbands over the years: he sensibly and aptly mirrors the wife’s relationship with her family. This seems to me the most logical and rational of all male behavior.
Of course, there is nothing absolute. When new bloodlines bring new beliefs, new attitudes, different manners, and modes into the family, the routine interactions of the original unit become more complicated. More likely than not, this is most evident in the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law kinship as it develops, co-exists, and mingles with the other relationships at work in the family. This unusual association intrigues me in its complexity.
A husband and wife were shopping when the husband said, "Darling, it’s my mother's birthday tomorrow, and she would like something electric. What shall we buy for her?" The wife replied, "How about a chair?!?"
This newly formed family kinship must be polished and cared for more diligently than any other for it seems to be the most easily tarnished. My daughter, now twice a mother, has framed and hanging in her home, this quote: If Mama Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy. I have a better one: If Daughter-in-Law Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy for Sure!
An unseen ceremony takes place in the marriage room, paralleling the union of husband and wife. Another duality is simultaneously formed—a separate merger unnoticed by the guests. This bonding is different in its melding than the marital joining of the two separate individuals; this new entity forms from one body. The mother of the groom must endure her personality split in silence and without fanfare, and graciously assume this involuntary identity. From that day forward, for better or worse, through no choice of her own, she becomes a mother-in-law. From being a devoted, hands-on parent, her role must change instantly into a curious hands-off relationship. In that life-changing moment, when the pronouncement of man and wife is made, the mother-son bond mutates.
This new life phase definitely requires some tricky maneuvering by the mother through the intricacies of unfamiliar territory where her son is now a husband. His manhood must never be diminished either in his own mind, or in the eyes of his wife—whose esteemed position in the newly formed unit must never be threatened, but fortified. Her husband remains his mother’s son of course, but in a less familiar way. It is a strange occurrence, and takes some getting used to by his mother.
This is not to say that the son no longer requires the affection of his mother. In most cases, he seems to need even more love and approval, as well as a goodly show of respect and appreciation after becoming a husband. And a wise mother-in-law will acquiesce, quietly, and unobtrusively. Above all, unobtrusively. Simply said, a mother-in-law must know her place, and keep herself within the boundaries of the newly imposed mother/son relationship. There now exists another dimension, a perimeter of mysterious regulations and codes instantaneously mandated the moment the life altering words of I do are uttered.
At times, I find myself alone and in the dark, perched somewhere high out on a limb, so to speak, of the proverbial family tree. I feel like some old night bird curiously fixated upon those scurrying and hurrying about within my range of vision. In an attempt to make some kind of sense from all of life’s conjunctions intersecting my path, I ponder the force of inter-family relations.
As a new mother-in-law, I found myself treading the strange, yet ancient, waters with no map for successful navigation. I decided to pull myself back, out of the minefield of uncertain expectations and emotional upheaval to evaluate the situation as a writer, as objectively as possible.
During extensive research of the mother and daughter-in-law phenomenon in general, I was surprised at the amount of information indicating that in almost all cases it is the daughter-in-law who attempts to bond with the mother-in-law, wishing to earn her love and respect as the wife of her son and later, as the mother of her grandchildren. But more often than not, according to my findings, the daughter-in-law feels that she fails miserably, and must deal with the stereotypically interfering, judgmental, demanding, or whining mother of her husband.
How could I avoid having my daughters-in-law view me as meddlesome and overbearing? I had been living under the assumption that because my sons had always loved me unconditionally, just as I had them, that their spouses would too. But, what if my daughters-in-law had absolutely no interest in forming any kind of close-knit relationship with me? What if everything I did or said was misunderstood and taken the wrong way. I realized that the dream of my family continuing in unified harmony, even as it extended, was not a given.
I resolved that I owe it to the sanctity of matrimony and motherhood to attempt to find a pathway that can lead me, and perhaps other mothers-in-law, to higher ground, to that elusive, dimly lit place where mothers and their sons’ wives can find an unlikely friendship wrapped inside a special and circumstantial relationship.
So, after interviewing a wide range of mothers and daughters-in-law, I came to the following conclusion: When the mother and daughter-in-law enter the playing field, and both women will know when the field has been entered, the advantage must always go to the daughter-in-law. Otherwise, the mother-in-law will appear manipulative, demanding, and jealous. The daughter-in-law serves the game ball. That is the rule. It is a wise woman who, when first encountering her son’s wife, realizes when the ball has been served into her court. How she handles that first serve can very well determine the outcome of the entire game.
I discovered reoccurring indicators throughout my research—red flags—that guarantee a failed mother and daughter-in-law relationship. Common mother-in-law missteps include even the slightest show of superiority, the mere hint of verbal criticism, the scantiest look of disapproval, and the sheerest suggestion of judgmental body language. Any, or all of these, can kill the relationship before it ever takes its first breath. Harmony has a difficult time developing between two women who find themselves trapped in a mother and daughter-in-law relationship after the mother-in-law bungles that all-important first serve.
Too often, the relationship between the two becomes one of tolerance, usually the daughter-in-law endures the mother-in-law, sometimes in such a way that the tolerance is invisible to all but the two parties. As the years pass and the two women mature and age, sometimes into entirely different people than they were upon first meeting, a genuine admiration can develop. I am hopeful that in my case, my daughters-in-law will continue to show me mercy. I ask them not to judge me too harshly, for my mistakes were never mean-spirited, merely thoughtless and uneducated. I hope they learn from me.
Observe, and listen, I tell them. For you may become one of these mother-in-law creatures yourselves one day and sooner than you think. So, I offer my mistakes to you, all my bumbling, blurting statements, even my outright blunt remarks upon occasion. All my foolish blunders, I offer to you as post-it notes for things not to do. Use them as your guideposts when you venture all too soon into your own extended families. I bid you all, both my daughters-in-law, and my only daughter, smooth passage. Go softly and vigilantly into that unfamiliar place when the door opens for you, and watch out for that first serve. It comes out of nowhere.