On Christmas night, like we do every year, we went to visit Angela’s brothers. Of her family, her two brothers are all who are left. Both brothers are married but only the eldest brother has children. It’s at his house, the home of the eldest, that we gather each year.

Sometimes there are other guests. Naturally, the daughters of the house are there. The older of the two girls is married. Her husband is in the service. He just came back from Iraq. This last time was his 4th time there. He has a deep angry scar running the length of his dominant arm, from when he was injured in battle during his first tour of duty. On this last deployment some of his comrades were killed. Roadside bomb. He mentioned that he was going to go to Arlington to visit the grave of the man whose body he found. I’ve always had a great deal of respect for the young man....

He embodies, to me, the ideal of the military: honest, honorable, intelligent, slow to anger, unmoved by vengeance. He is the person I keep in mind when I speak on my pacifist beliefs, the reason why I speak slowly, carefully, and taking care to communicate respect for those who would willingly come to harm to preserve my right to speak.( Of course, I would also willingly come to harm to protect the rights of others – I’m just convinced I couldn’t kill anyone, even if they were trying to kill me.) And I’ve sincerely thanked him for serving our country.

But, I digress.

The point is that I was awfully glad to see him. His parents, whom I’d met there before, were not there this time. However, the parents of the younger daughter’s fiancée were. The Hub met the fiancée and his folks before, but I had not, so we were introduced.

There was a buffet. We were all in the kitchen. Someone handed me a plate which immediately slipped through my hands, and then it happened again, then wavered furiously as, for some reason, my tremor started with a vengeance. The Mother of the Fiancee was suddenly standing in front of me, very close to me. I guessed she was a person who required less personal space then I do. “So, what’s your job?” she asked

I was a little confused. I didn’t know if she was asking how I made a living, or if she thought I had some particular role at the party, or if she noticed me mishandling my plate and wondered if I was competent to hold down paid work. You’d be surprised at the number of people who, upon noticing that you have a physical disability, assume you are also not quite right in the head. Or maybe you wouldn’t be surprised.

Of course, I’m NOT quite right in the head, but that has nothing to do with my demylinating disease. And I was wearing my Christmas tee shirt which proclaims “Nuttier than a Fruitcake” – just to give people fair warning.

“I mean, do you work?” MOF asked. I wasn’t exactly offended by her brusque manner. Sometimes people come up to me and start asking me questions because they’re nervous, and have been taken in by my “pretends to be an extrovert” persona. But sometimes people do things like that to make themselves feel better at the expense a person they think is weaker, or likely to put up with it.

Reserving judgement, I replied that I was selling condos down in Owings Mills.

“I thought you were doing something with insurance.” Gold, who introduces me to people as her sister-in-law, said.

“I was, but I couldn’t handle the drive any more, after this disability thing came up. I had to get a job closer to home.”

“What kind of disability?” MOF asked. Okay, it was a fair question. After all, I’d brought it up and by now conversation was quieting down, since this was News.

“I probably have MS. I’ve just been diagnosed a few months ago. They call it demylinating disease.”

I reached for a piece of cheese but my hand landed near the olives, so I picked up a piece of rye bread which I didn’t want, but which was nearby. I had to concentrate to manage the plate, while The Hub gave a surprisingly concise overview of the problem, talking over the top of my head. I was a little embarrassed, and still unable to successfully reach for the cheese.

“How old are you?” MOF demanded.

At which point, I ran out of patience, and said a little caustically, “Old enough to know better.” After all, none of these people ARE my in-laws

But to my complete and utter astonishment, no one heard me. They didn’t hear me because there was a clamor of voices defending me. “Just jump right in there with the personal questions, why not?” “Hey is it okay for one lady to ask another lady her age?” “Jeeze, let her at least fix a plate before the inquisition, alright?”

“No, no, I just meant maybe it had been an age discrimination issue at her last job…” MOF protested, while The Hub adroitly steered a chair under me. I gave up on the cheese entirely, sat down and contented myself with slopping some mustard over a piece of ham which had somehow gotten onto the rye bread.

I smiled at MOF to let her know there were no hard feelings and then there was a quieting down to see if I was going to say anything else. So I said, “Sorry to drop such a bomb. I forgot you guys didn’t know. Well, this can be my blanket advance apology if I accidentally spill food on you. Tremor, you know. Comes and goes.” I could feel my cheeks burning.

“Ugh, I know how that feels!” I heard a warm voice to my right. It was the soldier-in-law. “Nerve damage from this injury. I love it when my hand just starts doing its own thing for no reason. I mean, I’ll spill coffee all over somebody by accident and they’ll be like, ‘and they let you handle a gun?’ You’re in good company.” He winked at me.

Conversation resumed all around me. After staring at my ham in complete astonishment for about 20 seconds, I tuned in to MOF’s story about their dog, smiling and nodding to reinforce the no hard feelings concept. But I was floored. I couldn’t believe that Angela’s family had come to my defense like that. Not just one of them: almost all of them – and the one who might have the most reason to stay quiet, the soldier-in-law, went out of his way to ease my embarrassment.

I haven’t had anybody come to my verbal (or for that matter, physical) defense in years. The Hub, assumes that I can defend myself. Though he’s not always right, he’s seen many people decide to match wits with me and come away the worse for it. The last person who ever jumped in to save me from being embarrassed…..was Angela herself.

I couldn’t believe that these people, who we go for months without seeing or talking to, would risk offending someone who really WILL be family just to keep me from being caught a little off guard. I’ve consciously tried very hard to be polite and respectful to the soldier-in-law, who enjoys a good debate and conversation about current events. I guess I’ve succeeded. But, for the life of me, I can’t think of anything I could have ever done for that family that they’re always so good to me.

It’s like having family around – like unexpected family. It brightened my holiday considerably, and I was sorry we had to leave as early as we did.