A Younan's Union

We thought we could control them. We were told they would make an itinerary for our whole trip if we let them. We told them no. We told them we would do our own thing and see them while we were there. I think we had one night to ourselves before we met them. They picked us up in their car and drove us to a Lebanese restaurant five minutes from their house. It was a delicious meal and though there were only five of us, the amount of food they ordered could have easily fed eight or nine. They brought us back to their house after and gave us Lebanese coffee and told us all about our cousins back in Lebanon. We established to them that we had good spirits about us and they finally took us back to our hotel. From then on, each day was given entirely to them after around two or so. We could have our breakfast and the early afternoon to explore Sydney but by 3:00, at their insistence, we were in their car or on a train to Parrametta, the suburb just outside of Sydney that houses several hundred Lebanese people.  

They were loud and large. Tall people with booming voices and hearty appetites. Though they live in a densely populated suburban neighborhood, they flaunt their mid-eastern heritage by keeping goats, sheep, chickens, and quail in their backyard, which is not large enough to accommodate the setting you may have just created in your mind.

We spent most of our time answering questions handed to us in broken English and then translated into a shouting dialect of Lebanese for the rest of the family to understand. A few of them never bothered to learn English on account of living among so many other Lebanese people whose children learned English and translated for them. They loved to talk about Lebanon and who was related to who and how and why. In elementary school my Fun Fact About Me was always that my real last name is Younan but it was spelled wrong (Union) when my family came in to Ellis Island all those years ago. Here in Australia they loved talking about who had made it onto the Union side verses the Younan side and where in the world they live today. Every conversation started by going over a segment of the family tree to determine who's grandpa we were talking about. "And what about your brothers?" they asked Dad. 

They were elated to meet Dad. He is after all, the man of his American family. The Lebanese man. This means, in theory, his wife and children should cater to him and he will not lift a finger for matters of the home. This is a woman’s duty. “The man works outside the home. The woman works inside.” they told me, heaving another scoop of labneh onto my plate. And indeed, when dinner was served, all the men stayed seated while their wives fixed them a plate and served it to them before sitting down to their own meal. 

“What’s going on?” Dad asked when he realized he was the only man ladling food onto a plate. He figured it out pretty quickly and shoved his plate towards Mom shouting “Serve me, baby!” much to the delight of our new family members. Mom did not serve Dad that night but the menfolk still observed him with pride, approving of their American cousin and insisting he pose for pictures helping the birthday boy cut his cake.

They were also pleased to meet me because Lebanese blood runs through my veins. Because I am dark and swarthy. Because I have a healthy, shiny coat from head to toe like the rest of the women. “Such beautiful eyebrows.” one cousin said to me. “Thick!” a tiny little aunt with a shrill voice shouted. I informed them that I actually only have one eyebrow. I just make it look like two. The men folk however, were much less interested in my grooming tactics and more concerned that I am unmarried. 

“You how old?” they would ask casually. Their expressions turned grave when they discovered I am halfway through my twenties. “When you get marry?” they would ask. 

One uncle in particular saw no hope for me. He was devastated to learn that I have no plans for marriage at this time. “But it’s past time!” he told me urgently, as though I should’ve gotten up right then and gone to pick a husband.
“I have a lot I want to do before I have some lug I have to drag around with me.” I said, rather playfully. 

“No no!” he shouted, startling Mom and me. “Is too late. Is too late!” he said, holding his head in his hands. I found myself feeling as though I needed to comfort him though later in the night he gave off a vibe that would suggest he was mad at me.

They were a bit less excited to meet Mom. She’s just another Anglo Saxon. I should tell you that they were very sweet to her and would always and sit and talk with her but I noticed that they were never really paying attention to her. She would offer a comment that could easily start a good conversation but they never took the bait. They would pause for a moment and then scream at each other in Lebanese. “What you do today?” the shrill voiced little one asked Mom. “Oh we went to the zoo today and took a ferry ride through the harbor.” Mom replied.

“HAVALA ASCAMHI DASHNIVALAMBA!!!!!!!!!” the shrill one would shout to her husband and then turn her attention back to Mom. “You like the grapefruit?” she would ask. Mom and I both found this frustrating and amusing and would struggle not to laugh at how often the shouting would make us flinch in our chairs.

When they weren’t screaming it’s because their mouths were full of food. The amount of food presented to us throughout the week was shameful. At any meal there was a choice of three meats, four vegetables, two breads, and several spreads and dips. After dinner came coffee, tea, dessert and fruit. “Oh no thank you. I’m very full.” you might plea. 

“Why you no eat fruit. Is good for you. I peel for you. Just take fruit.” And then they would flick it off of the platter onto the plate they had just shoved into your hands. “Take another. Take one more.” Our standard-sized appetites suggested to them that we were not feeling well. “Is it the jetlag?” they asked me. This next picture is the refrigerator in their home. Yes, that is a commercial grade, high volume, retail cooler. Yes, it's in their living room.

All of this made me love them. A lot.

They were beyond hospitable, extremely genuine, and accidentally the funniest people I’ve come across in some time. I was tickled to find characteristics in them that I see in my Dad and his brothers. And I was proud to hear them tell me “Ah, you are a Younan.” when they heard some eccentric quality of mine. I feel like I could call any of these people at any time and they would stop what they were doing and ask me all about the family and what I’d been thinking about lately. 

The ringleader of our family reunion, a large thunderous man with giant hands and a stern brow, would absolutely turn the world upside down to make us happy. He was big and scary and so full of love that I curled into his giant shoulders every night for a bear hug because he didn’t want us to leave. They were all so loving and I’m so tickled to have met them. 

It’s just that I’ll have to enter the country undercover if I wish to explore areas outside of Parrametta.