In the fall of 1976, Janet finally accepted my proposal of marriage. (It was definitely proof of the power of persistence. She simply did not understand why anyone would marry her.) We set a date for the May of the following year, by which time I would have gotten my engineering degree, and we could live happily ever after.

We were the first children in either family to decide to marry. (Her brother has avoided it completely. Mine married in the following decade.) Which meant Christmas was Family Inspection Time. By both families, as both sets of parents lived in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Not the local relatives. We had been going together for several years already and both of us were known to the other’s family even before we were dating as Janet was the kid sister of one of my close high school friends. Rather, it was the opportunity for out-of-town relatives to inspect the potential new addition to the family.

This meant we had to sit through two enormous Christmas dinners, a challenge. But I was just barely out of my teens while she was 18. At our ages, we were up to the challenge.

I remember meeting several of her uncles at her house. (She had six.) Her father was five-nine. (I was six feet tall then. I have shrunk half an inch since.) He was the runt of the litter. All of his younger brothers were taller than me. (The shortest was 6′ 3″.) And looked lots stronger. (I told Janet she did not have to worry about my treating her badly as I was sure they would track me down if I gave them an excuse to do so. She agreed with me about the tracking down part.)

At my place, the out-of-town relatives to which she was introduced included my uncle Jack and my paternal grandmother, Yaiya Lillian. (Yaiya is Greek for grandmother.) My mom’s mother, Yaiya Sophie (who lived in town) knew and approved of Janet. That should have set off warning bells for me as whatever Yaiya Sophie approved of Yaiya Lillian disapproved of. And vice-versa.

Yaiya Lillian was racist. Not in the traditional sense of being down on Blacks, Hispanics, and Asians (although she was, boy howdy). Rather, she was buoyed by the conviction that Greeks were the world’s superior race. If you were not Greek, you were not fully human. Remember the Greek father in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Square his attitude about Greeks. Now cube the result. That was Lillian.

Lillian had four children. My father was the oldest, Uncle Jack was the youngest, and there were two daughters in between. None of her children shared her existential certainty about the superiority of the Greek race. To them people were people, and you had to judge them by who they were, not who their parents and grandparents were.

Dad married a Greek girl. In Yaiya Lillian’s eyes, Mom had always been a bit suspect because her parents were mainlanders instead of proper island Greeks, but she was Greek. (Mind, all of my parents’ generation – my uncles and aunts – had been born in the US, not Greece, but to Yaiya’s eyes, their parents were from Greece, so their children were Greek. Oddly, Lillian was the only one of my four grandparents born in the US, born one year after her parents immigrated.) Dad met my mom at a Greek Orthodox Church social function and they hit it off – they did not marry because of my mom’s pedigree.

Despite Mom‘s Barely Acceptable status, Lillian was a wretched mother-in-law to Mom. Mom had taken Lillian’s boy away from Lillian after all. (There is a mother-in-law story in that I will relate at a later time.) 

One sister also married a man of Greek descent. (They, too, met in church.)

My Uncle Jack? He married a very patrician, blond-haired, blue-eyed East Coast WASP. Yaiya gave him no peace over that. My aunt was not only not Greek, she was very obviously NOT Greek. (Somehow Yaiya missed the memo that East Coast WASPs back then kind of looked down on Greeks the way she looked down on non-Greeks.) That marriage eventually ended for reasons other than ethnicity. They drifted apart, although my parents kept in touch with that aunt afterward.

I knew about Yaiya’s prejudices. But I was my father’s son, and really did not give a rip. Janet and I fit together, and that was all that mattered. Janet was also very much not Greek. Her family was a mix of German, English, Irish and Norse, mostly German. But thanks to her black Irish and Swabian ancestors she had dark hair and brown eyes. As some of the church ladies would later tease Janet, she could pass for Greek. (And with her talent for baking Greek pastries, they proclaimed Janet honorary Greek.)

At dinner (our second big meal of the day) Janet and I sat down. Papouli (grandfather) Perros, my mother’s father, staked out one end of the table, with Yaiya Sophie next to him. My parents were at the other end. I was a little surprised when Lillian sat down next to Janet, but then decided that was because it was about as far from Sophie as she could get. My Uncle Jack sat next to his mother. The rest of the crowd included my brothers, and my uncle and aunt from Mom’s side of the family, and their kids. As I recall, it was a little over a dozen in all.

Did I mention Janet was nervous? This was a first time meeting the out-of-town relatives, just as it had been for me at her parents.’

Before the meal, I had cued Janet not to let Lillian rattle, her, but not really explained why. My thinking was more that Lillian was a drama queen who had to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral. Since Janet was the star attraction at this particular Christmas dinner, I had some thought Yaiya might try to upstage her. I had not considered Yaiya’s prejudice against non-Greeks because I did not think in those terms.

Now Janet was sitting next to the woman I had cautioned her to watch out for. But as the meal progressed, Janet finally began thinking Lillian had sat next to her to get to know the new addition to the family a little better. Especially since Lillian was excruciatingly polite during the first part of the meal. Finally, Janet relaxed.

Then with the regal presence of a Queen Jadis, Yaiya turned to Janet and asked, “And what is your name, dear?”

Janet responded, “Janet Potter.”

“What is that shortened from? Yaiya purred.

Janet looked at my grandmother in confusion.

“Potterdopolis, mother” announced my Uncle Jack, without missing a beat. “Please pass the potatoes.”

The conversation changed to other topics. The rest of the meal went smoothly.

For those reading who are as confused as Janet was about the exchange, let me explain, just as I explained to her after the meal.. Many Greeks shortened their last names to one or two syllables when they immigrated to the United States. A Stephanopolous might change it to Polous. Or going the other way, to Stephan. Or Anglicize it to Stevens.

Yaiya was trying to discover whether this Greek-looking girl I was marrying was authentically Greek. I suspect Yaiya knew Janet was not Greek and was trying to create mischief and drama, once it proved I had brought a counterfeit Greek. But Uncle Jack had short-stopped that. I suspect he got a little of his own back by doing so, as well as sparing his nephew and that nephew’s fiancee a bit of grief.

Potterdopolous went into family lore with Jan and I, She frequently told the story, especially at church functions. It was enjoyed by a lot of the non-Greek spouses who had been through a bit of this themselves.

That was over forty years ago. Most of those at that dinner, including Janet, are now gone.

This is my second Christmas in over forty years without Janet. In some ways, it is harder than the first one. All that is left are memories.

But memories are sustaining.