I am smacked at family get-togethers. Overwhelmed. The Poles. Polak. Polka. Loud floods the room with no place for the shy.

Relationships between My Big Fat Greek Wedding and my family cannot be missed. A big family, everyone in each other’s business. Secrets are unheard-of. The blood was untainted before impurity joined the family. Love ruled. But it had to happen. He had to marry her.

My dad fell in love with my mom. A mutt. Zero Polish in her veins. So he faced the wrath of family. Parents appalled. Tainted blood line? Not allowed. They ignored him for weeks: No communication. No support. No acceptance.

He had his work cut out for him to get back into the family. Convincing them that the woman he loved was ok. Not polish, but ok. Perfect the way she was. With months of work to do, three months time turned into three months of pleading. Finally. Success! Love would take time, but acceptance was a start. A year passed and he was right. His parents loved her. After the first grandchild, love was unconditional. She was part of the family.

My family. Where I come from. Hard-headed Poles, loving unconditionally, needing to be loud to be heard, keeping the culture alive away from the homeland. All thanks to the family I was born into.