Welcome to the family, you slut
Every other year my mom’s side of the family hosts a family reunion. It’s a weekend of many laughs, loads of food, sweet and sometimes awkward catching up (I can’t remember the name or status of my mom’s second cousin’s daughter’s husband), the traditional talent show, goofy games, and an all-around good time.
Being recently engaged, I decided this was the year to drag my guy along to meet the family. He comes from a fairly small, reserved group so he was excited to be introduced to the (welcoming and loving) chaos that is our family, I was ready to be humored by the interactions, and my Granddaddy was interested to see if his six rambunctious siblings and their offspring would run the fiancé off. It was set to be an entertaining weekend.
At this point I need to provide some backstory. A few weeks prior to the reunion my mom made a call to one of the main organizers of the event: her aunt, a dear, hard of hearing woman who I adore and who I have never heard utter a rude word about anyone. My mom was telling her who of our branch of the family would be attending and when she got to the fiancé's name, there were some issues in the communication. It’s understandable, as his last name (Fluth, rhymes with “truth”) is not a common one and is especially difficult to understand over the phone. After a few minutes of back and forth, my mom was fairly confident that she and her aunt were on the same page.
The time rolls around to head to the family gathering. My mom, fiancé, and I were some of the last to arrive so when we did show up we were greeted and warmly welcomed by the rest of the family who had already settled in and begun the games and conversation. I introduced the fiancé around and it wasn’t until most people had headed off to their respective rooms for the night that we got a chance to take a look at the sign-in table with name tags, schedule of events, etc. On the table was the only copy left of the family tree that my great-uncle had printed to help everyone keep track of everyone else. And there towards the bottom of the page directly under my own name was the fiancé's name. Except it wasn’t his name. They had his first name correct, but apparently my mom and great aunt weren’t on the same page after all.
My honorable man had been renamed “Kent Slut”.
My mom and I thought it was hilarious of course, and after showing it to the fiancé we all were holding our bellies and wiping our eyes from laughter. Which drew my great aunt’s attention, who demanded to know what we thought was so funny. Between gasps of air, my mom pointed to the printed name and managed to get out: “His name is Fluth. Fluth! Not Slut!” after which my great aunt covered her mouth, opened her eyes wide, and exclaimed, “Oh I’m so embarrassed” which led to more laughter from the rest of us.
While she found it strange that someone would have that last name and not choose to change it, my great aunt thought my mother was pronouncing it “Sloot” which she supposed made it not so bad. And, really, the whole thing made me more grateful for such an amazing family and fiancé who can laugh at themselves and shake things off when most people would resort to immediate offense and anger.
It was a ridiculously silly introduction and fun time enjoyed by all. Kent lasted the whole weekend and did not run away screaming. When the time comes I think I’ll be keeping my last name, but hey, welcome to the family!