Don’t Tell Betty

(Poor Betty! She was and is a great person, and she isn’t a gossip. This isn’t even about her. Sorry, Betty! This rule should actually be called “What Happens in the Family Stays in the Family.”)

I knew it was going to be a long evening whenever my mother started a conversation with, “Betty says….”

“BETTY says?! BETTY says?!” my Dad would spit contemptuously.

“Betty says,” translated to “MOM BLABBED.” Everything was considered blabbing. You part your lips, you blab. We’re not talking about topics such as sex or family finances. Even seemingly ordinary topics could earn Mom the reputation of having loose lips. Breathing = Conversing = Blabbing in my Dad’s way of thinking.

Dad guarded his privacy. Maybe it made him uncomfortable that many of the husbands in the neighborhood, including Betty’s husband Wilbur, worked with my Dad at a secure government facility. Maybe Dad’s job made him paranoid. Or maybe the neighborhood felt unpleasantly like a small town in which everyone knew everyone else’s business. Perhaps he was living out a family rule from his own childhood. I’m trying to understand his logic.

Truth be told, there was no bona fide dirt available on either Mom or Dad. No addictions, no crimes, no affairs, no financial crises. Just garden-variety family dysfunctions and eccentricities. My Dad’s biggest offense at this point might have been the way he walked around the yard in warm weather. This was nothing new. I’m sure the neighbors had all observed him turning the family garden plot shoeless, in his saggy v-neck undershirt, slacks, and black dress socks. Worst were the truly hot days when he kept the long dress socks but swapped his slacks for white cotton shorts. The retinas (retinae??) of the unsuspecting viewer were burned by the sight of his long, transparent legs, which sported a sparse covering of long black hair and were dappled with moles of varying shades and topographies. OK, that probably WAS a crime.

But I digress. The point is that my Dad did not want to know what Betty thought about the price of eggs or anything else. This is because he felt violated and exposed by the knowledge that my mother had gone as far as to discuss a matter as titillating as the price of eggs.

Probably Mom HAD at some point discussed something personal in nature but everybody needs trustworthy friends in whom they can confide. I don’t know where I’d be without my girlfriends. Besides, being home alone all day with no car and three young children could really make a person nuts, especially someone social like Mom.

Maybe her real mistake was letting it slip that she was not as silent as a sphinx. Or maybe it was as simple as having friends.

This post is part of a series called Family Rules. The prior post is here. The next post is here.