I have MAGA-in-laws. Despite our political differences, I adore them

This First Person column is written by Jordan Kawchuk, who lives in Duncan, B.C. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

In 2015, my then-girlfriend and I took our first trip together, driving from Vancouver to meet her parents at their acreage outside Oregon City.

The trip down was charmingly American. We drove past corn dog huts, county fairs, brash billboards and colourful Mexican restaurants, and we ate gas station candy bars and drank sodas.

As we reached the driveway of her parent’s rural home, I saw them for the first time. I don’t mean her mom and dad. I mean the Trump flags flying from the beams of their otherwise welcoming country house. Those flags somehow seemed more expensive, dominant and unsettling than the flimsy lawn signs that come out during Canada’s elections.

Stephanie turned to me and said, “You might not want to date me after this weekend and I don’t blame you.”

But love doesn’t care for politics, and so we pushed forward. I didn’t just inherit new in-laws when I fell for Stephanie 11 years ago. I inherited MAGA-in-laws. Despite being at political odds with their Make America Great Again ideal, our visits are downright enjoyable — even if that took time to get there.

Meeting the family

It would be punishing enough for any nervous suitor to face the paternal one-two punch that is my new father-in-law. The man used to be a preacher. He also used to be a cop. A figurative Bible and shotgun stood between me and his daughter. 

But meeting Stephanie’s parents was a pleasure and a joy. They were accepting, engaging and so very funny. Her raucous older sisters came over to say hello and I fell in love with the whole family. Everyone had a slight accent, even if we were only six hours away from home. We ate neon Jello-marshmallow salads and fried chicken. Crazy family stories were shared around the table, baby photos came out, her dad played the banjo and I got my butt handed to me in Mexican Train dominoes. Fox News played on the TV the entire time.

That first night, Stephanie and I retired to separate guest rooms. Even though we were adults, there was an expectation that we’d sleep apart as an unmarried couple.

From under my crafty quilt, in a room adorned with old-fashioned dolls, I texted Stephanie in the next bedroom. I self-congratulated my model boyfriend behaviour and how I gracefully danced around the red, white and blue Republican elephant in the room. 

Making family visits great again

I lay in my bed that night feeling like a naive Canadian. Unlike today, when I feel better informed about the right’s trajectory — even in my own country — that first visit was confusing in its palpable contradictions. 

I couldn’t understand how this well-read, wise-cracking, Christian family supported a campaigning billionaire with a sketchy past. I didn’t know why I had to morally sleep in a separate room from my partner while the candidate they loved slept with porn stars. And I was floored to learn that my tiny, sweet mother-in-law, who had played us churchy music on the piano that night, had a gun stashed in her frilly, flowery bedroom.  

As time went on, their house displayed more MAGA merch — a painting of a youthful, smiley president, right-wing tchotchkes and coins, and even outfits for the dog. Trump was felt everywhere in that home, giving poor old Jesus a run for his money.

It wasn’t easy for Stephanie. Her family, once openly progressive, had been drifting rightward more and more each year. And with growing discontent for perceived White House shortcomings, as well as a steady diet of Fox News, they — like so many Americans in the 2010s — went all-in on Trump. Their moderate conservatism evolved into immutable MAGA loyalty. 

Stephanie has lived in Canada most of her adult life and chose to follow her own political path. It was in direct opposition to her family’s, creating the divide this administration has wrought on so many loved ones.

Following Trump’s election in 2016, there were periods of discomfort and divisiveness — sisters splitting into opposing teams, heated arguments and family members being blocked on social media. After that, an unspoken agreement was entered to avoid discussions about politics and our visits became more civil.

The funny thing was, the more her family doubled down on their immovable political allegiance, the less awkward our visits felt. Acceptance can do wonders for serenity. 

I mean, what really made me lean left, other than where I grew up? 

Inside my in-law’s home, the stories were just as funny and the company just as delicious. Beating each other in dominoes holds more meaning than beating each other’s dead horses.  

When we drive down to Oregon this summer, it will be under an entirely new (and very unnecessary) tension between our friendly countries. But I’m expecting a wonderful visit in spite of their president’s blather. 

I will feel safe, included and fed. 

Of course, both sides will secretly feel the other is brainwashed, and that’s all right (because I am right). Everything will work out, even if I’m still a little scared of her dad. 

My best practice for a pleasant in-law visit is simple. I only open my mouth to say nice things. And to eat the Jello and marshmallow salad with my dinner.

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