Meet the Parents

By Christian

Meeting your girlfriend’s parents for the first time is always an interesting adventure. I met Christine’s Mom first.
For the Spring break 75, I drove Christine home, about 4 hours North of Montpellier. Her hometown, Le Creusot, was 45 minutes from the highway.
It allowed me to discover the beautiful country side. Rolling green hills, Charolais cows grazing (Gosh, my mouth was watering at the thought of the meat!), vineyards everywhere. I had heard about Burgundy wines of course, but I’d never had the chance to taste any.  I‘d never seen such landscapes and so much grass, so green, in my whole life either.

Then, there we were, in front of the large house; her Mom welcomed me as a family member right away.
It was a typical French home, as I’d imagined it. It was the first time in almost 5 years that I was welcomed into a French household!
We were right on time for lunch. Passing through the kitchen, I saw that Charolais steaks were on the menu. Christine must have tipped off her Mom! As a starving student, I was craving solid meat.
What I didn’t know, at the time, was that Christine’s Mom was very well known for letting things burn. So, this time, when she thought the steaks were done, she very carefully covered them, and they arrived almost boiled in my plate. Arghhhh! What a disappointment! I almost cried and couldn’t resist giving the one who would be my Mother in law her first cooking lesson. She still cooks steaks the way I taught her, good girl.
Then coffee arrived, and she had to have her second lesson!
She didn’t kick me out right away this time. A few months later, while visiting Christine in Montpellier, she told me coldly: “I am pretty happy to visit my daughter and to kick you out of her bed!” OK, got the message.

Later that summer, Christine and I were both working as waiters in a restaurant in Aigues Mortes, a very touristic medieval town. St Louis had left for his crusade from Aigues Mortes in the 12^th century! Christine’s parents were vacationing in the area and wanted to meet me. Christine took a few days off to be with them. They came at lunch time, at the height of the tourist season, when it was quite busy. I saw them coming and left my tables and customers to chat with them for a few minutes, wearing my waiter’s black pants and white shirt.
In my eyes, Christine’s Dad was the typical tourist, sandals (with socks), shorts, camera around his neck, the whole deal.

His gaze bored into me, weighing me in five seconds. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the report of his analysis on the spot.
Little did I know that he was the C.E.O of a huge factory. He had forty engineers in his engineering department, and thousands of workers. Among other things, they were manufacturing nuclear plants.
The main owner of the factory was one of the richest men in France, no less than Baron Empain, heir of the Schneider family.
Only when Christine’s Dad offered me a tour of the factory a year later did I figure out he was no ordinary tourist.

He had to train me for many years to learn a bit of Burgundy wines tasting. It was tough training. I feel sometimes I should go back to these sessions, as I truly enjoyed them.

In almost forty years, I have gotten to know them quite well. They have been Catholics their whole lives, never faltering. The house they live in now is a nice manor, always open to all. They are very generous, very devoted, and ready to help whoever knocks on their door. At some point they welcomed many Cambodian refugees who were fleeing the Pol Pot regime. Theses families were always visiting, staying. Christine’s Dad would find them jobs, they would get established in the area. Now their children call them Grandpa and Grandma and come visit with their own children. Yep I love my in-laws.