2022, September 1: a wedding in Ohio
About a month before the unplanned Florida trip, I found myself taking a much happier, anticipated one, moving in the complete opposite direction and with a totally different set of family members: my wife and her parents instead. Which isn’t to say that, though knowing months in advance about this wedding, the way we initially learned about it was any less surprising.
It all starts when Erin’s cousin, Kati, calls to break the big news about tying the knot. Kati has been living in Torrance, California, which is basically a suburb of Los Angeles (unnecessary fun fact: I also have a first cousin, Shanna, who lives with her family in Torrance), for who knows how many years. Except she and her fiance are about to move, back to his hometown, about which Kati knows nothing.
“Where?” I hear Erin question, from my nearby seat. Listens to Kati’s reponse, then mutters, “hmm, I don’t know,” before asking me, “hey babe, have you ever heard of Bucyrus, Ohio?”
I start cracking up and tell her, “uh…yeah! It’s basically the next town over from where I was born…”
So this is all completely mind-blowing, considering Erin’s side of the family does not hail from Ohio. Erin and her sisters and parents were all born in New York City, the borough of Queens. With the other family members mostly branching outward from that same neck of the woods themselves. Some of them, like Erin, would of course eventually get to know Ohio, but her mom for instance has never even made it up there. And now this cousin, who somehow wound up in L.A., met some dude who hails from what we like to call the armpit of the Buckeye State (not Bucyrus specifically, rather this entire region) meaning Kati is about to become exceedingly, unexpectedly familiar with it as well.
In actuality, it’s only the wedding that’s transpiring in Bucyrus. They are actually set to live in Upper Sandusky, a short distance west of there (in case you’re not already confused enough, be advised that Upper Sandusky is 58 miles south of normal, non-upper Sandusky, which sits on the shores of Lake Erie).
None of the standard jokes about your in-laws apply here. From the moment Erin and I got serious about one another and she began bringing me around the extended family, they’ve proven to be 100% awesome people (well, she does have one this one douchey uncle that apparently none of them like - nobody is quite sure what happened there, with that guy) and we’ve never exchanged really a single unpleasant word.
Like my own parents, Erin’s moved down to North Carolina in the 1990s, and have remained ever since. So we’ve always had that in common, at least. As one might expect, these transplanted New Yorkers are a brash, vocal bunch, heavily Italian on her mom’s side. The adults never lost their accents, and even Erin’s will come out on the right occasion, like for example if around a bunch of them for extended periods, even though she moved away at a young age.
Yet even when I was living in Ohio, people ranging from some scattered friends to customers at work would occasionally tell me that there was something very New York about me, too. I’m not quite sure why this would be the case. Though typically not very brash or vocal, it’s true than when speaking, I do tend to just blurt out whatever I have to say without putting a ton of thought into it. And definitely have that whole northern-speed-mode going on, particularly on the job, which is far removed from the sleepy Carolina waltz or even half throttle Midwest pace.
Whatever the case, I guess it’s none too surprising we hit it off. I have always vibed with these personality types. Even if, when I first started coming around, I once overheard Erin’s mom, Elaine, on the phone with one of her friends, explaining me with a laugh as, “he’s the Henry Hill of the family.” By this, she presumably meant the quiet non-Italian, and not his less savory aspects.
Elaine’s very personable and chatty, while Erin’s dad, Tom, drifts more towards bizarro comments on the side. An intense music and baseball fanatic, though, like me, so we’ve always had that in common (in fact most of the family is crazy about baseball). They’re both retired now, have dealt with numerous ailments and surgeries, although at least in Tom’s case, he remedies the situation with lots and lots of not-exactly-prescribed-though-quite-clearly-medicinal pot smoking. Like, lots and lots of it. Which does tend to ramp up the bizarro comment factor.
I do find it interesting, however, and another of these case studies I’m always marveling at, in how our families once again demonstrate that what things look like are often so far removed from what they actually are. Which is true everywhere you turn in life. This whole stereotype about the vocal and in your face New Yorkers is somewhat of a smokescreen obscuring how these are actually just very nice people at their core; meanwhile, I think the surface outlines of many Ohioans has them as laidback and mild-mannered, which therefore makes it all the more shocking to discover how fucking crazy a lot of these families can be.
So this roadtrip should prove to be a riot. It’s the four of us in Elaine’s SUV, with her at the wheel, an overnight pitstop at this West Virginia casino ahead of us. As an added bonus, their cousins Kevin and Lynn, who themselves relocated from somewhere up north to Burlington, NC, are loosely traveling with us, and staying at the casino hotel as well.
We arrive at the casino somewhat late in the evening, but even so, are immediately informed that our room is somehow still not ready. Erin and I have been to this one countless times - the Mardi Gras casino located just west of Charleston, off of I-64 - but for her parents, it’s their first foray. And it seems they are not too impressed at first blush, or at least Tom is not, becoming irate over this hotel room business, being informed that we must chill awhile until it’s ready.
“You’re the most Boomer person ever,” Erin tells him with a snicker.
“I am not! And I’m not even really a Boomer!” he bellows in response.
“Yes you are! And yes you are! You are totally the most Boomer Boomer, ever, BOOMER!”
She’s cackling and mostly it seems to me just messing with him to get a rise - whether her diagnosis is accurate or not - but he’s determined to prove her wrong. “You don’t know. You’ll see. I am the least like my generation of any person you will ever meet.”
We hover around the vehicle, outside in the carport area near the hotel’s front door. That freaking Chuck Mangione song, of all things, is playing overhead, while a mild argument ensues between the three of them, concerning just how to spend this unexpected free time. Elaine’s knee is balky after all this driving - she would prefer not to take the wheel, but typically gets carsick when anyone else is doing so - and therefore she’s stomping around on a cane, advancing her suggestion that we unload everything onto one of those rolling carts, then kick back until our room has opened. Erin meanwhile is in favor of leaving it for now, parking, as we venture into the attached casino instead.
“But why?” Elaine questions.
“Because I just wanna go spend money!” Erin growls.
In the end, this winds up as a whole lot of fuss about nothing. Our room is open soon enough, gear stowed, as we then descend to this would-be gambling mecca. Tom and Elaine sign up for newbie rewards cards, Erin and I update ours, and we’re off to the races. Kevin and Lynn are apparently somewhere on site, too, but we never see them tonight.
Yet even though this casino is now open until 4 in the morning, and there was no attached hotel back when we initially started coming here, the place seems a whole lot less glamorous now, for some reason.
Maybe it’s because the poker boom is clearly over. When I arrive on the scene at 10:30pm, there’s just a single cash table going, albeit at low budget stakes right up my alley. This part of the operation shuts down at 2am, however, and despite sticking around until that hour, against a bunch of dudes I wouldn’t exactly consider deadly, I’m nonetheless down $59 for my troubles. The girls played slots for about a half or so apiece, just to say they did I suppose, then drifted upstairs to bed. Tom meanwhile has paced around relentlessly, drifted outside to smoke weed, texted me a couple times, railbirded the action here and there, and dabbled in slot machines himself.
By the time this poker room closes and I join him, he’s down a pretty decent chunk of money. Which makes what happens next particularly hilarious, as on my second pull of the slot machine immediately beside him, upon plopping down into that seat, I hit a bunch of free plays, et cetera, and wind up $64.50 ahead. Immediately cash out and stroll over to the payout cage, for bragging rights about being up a whopping five dollars and fifty cents on the night.
I feel bad for him, but he is in good spirits, so it’s okay. We’re joking around the kid who is cashing me out, though, who says he’s heard all kinds of theories about what goes on in these casinos, the reasons why many people have a pronounced inability to sleep. Tom jokes about there being tiny robots in the carpet that jab Adderall into you with needles. Then again, I think he’s pretty much up all night.
In other news…
-"Canvas Rebel" recently interviewed me! A short but fun little chat about my writing career, tips for others, and so on. They also blew up my personal photo so large that you can see every speck of lint in the entire history of my hat. Good stuff! Click this link to check that out, if ye are so inclined:
https://canvasrebel.com/meet-jason-mcgathey/
-it’s been an atypically action packed week on that front. Blogger Kaitlyn Neitman was writing a piece about Columbus, Ohio, and asked me one place that I would recommend to a stranger. I went with The Book Loft. My quote is pretty tiny but it’s still a fun little piece if this is something you’re interested in:
https://www.apartmentguide.com/blog/unique-things-to-do-in-columbus-oh/
Thanks and have a great week!
Hey Jason! I just placed an order for your book, “The Doom Statues,” on Amazon. It should arrive by Monday! So excited! Thanks a lot!