Family Matters

Every weekend my host family walks 25 minutes through the streets of Viña del Mar to the house of my abuelo y abuela (Tata and Titi) for a family lunch, as do my two uncles, my aunt, and all the cousins. Three generations, all living in the same city. This is the trend in Chile: keep your family close. Children live with their parents until they get married. I just went to a goodbye party for a friend who is 26 and moving out of his house for the first time to go and live in Australia for a year. Many of my gringa friends have older siblings upwards of 25 living at home with them. And parents accomodate their children's social lives, helping them to throw parties and staying up until 4:30 am, not to hover and chaperone, but to say goodbye to the guests and thank them for coming.

I used to define independence and maturity as synonymous with complete self-sufficiency. At college, I relished the freedoms of coming and going without telling the parentals, doing my own grocery shopping, the gratification of spending my own money, and living with friends and experiencing that new type of family. But I also felt mature and free because I didn't need to call my parents, and when confronted with a problem, I felt some small sense of defeat when I broke down and called the family for advice. Living here, where your family is your best friend and your fail-safe support network, my perceptions have changed. Having been raised in the U.S. I still would't want to live with my parents until I got married or go home every weekend while at school , but I have a new appreciation for the value of family connections. [Interjection: My host mom asked me if my parents missed me a lot and I replied that yes, of course they did, but since I live in Portland when I'm at school, it really isn't all that different. Yes, she replied, except you visit them every weekend. No, I don't. Her eyes widened, and she stared at me... ] We all have parents, and we all know that they are the best people to call when we're feeling down or in a funk, so why deprive ourselves of that? Talking to our families a few times a week and visiting home are vital to strengthening and maintaining the incredible bond we have between ourselves and those people who will always always be there for us.

Because my host family has maintained that bond, the dynamic of our family lunches are more like those of a group of friends than of (at least in my mind) a typical family gathering. We sit outside, weather permitting and I frantically attempt to follow one of the five conversations being yelled back and forth across the circle of people. One weekend they pulled out a bottle of wine called Sexo. Here was the conversation, more or less:

Titi: ¿Quieres Sexo?

Viejita flaca (who is she? I don't know. I met her on my first day in the whirlwind of introductions to the entire family, forgot her name instantly, and now refer to her as 'viejita flaca' [little old skinny woman] ):

Sí. No he probado el Sexo antes.

Pascale (aunt): Siiipo, es rico el Sexo.

Viejita flaca: Mmm, si, me gusta. ¿Terra, has probado el Sexo? ¡Pruébalo!

Translation:

Titi: Do you want sex?

Viejita flaca: Yes. I haven't tried sex before.

Pascale: Yessss, sex is delicious.

Viejita flaca: Mmm, yes, I like it. Terra, have you tried sex? Try it!

Another evening as the whole family was eating La Once (ohn-say: tea time) they started discussing uroligists and rectal exams. I was absolutely dying of laughter, gasping for breath. Here I am, in a Catholic country, being asked if I'd like to try sex and joking about rectal exams. What a wonderful contradiction. They have transformed family gatherings from awkward conversations about classes, life plans, and job troubles, from strained hours in which you try to fill the gaping holes in the details of eachothers lives, to light hearted joking, laughter, and comfortable discourse. Upon my return to Gringolandia I am hoping to bring a bit of the Chilean family-spirit back with me.