Make a Toast to Their Love, Then Zipper Your Mouth

Ana Veciana-Suarez

My son, the third from the throne, is engaged.

"Do you like her?" friends ask.

"I do," I reply, "very much."

But part of me thinks that even if I didn't, it wouldn't matter much. I have no illusions about my influence over my adult children, particularly in the thorny matters of love and marriage.

As kids grow up and make lives of their own, most parents become in-laws -- or outlaws, depending on the relationship.

It's a title Bill and Hillary Clinton will soon assume. Chelsea, the only child of the former president and the secretary of state, announced her engagement to her longtime boyfriend, Marc Mezvinsky, over Thanksgiving. That means the Clintons' diplomatic skills soon will be tested in the prickly arena of family politics.

A marriage is more than the union of two people. It's often the forging of disparate family cultures and traditions. Making it work for the extended family on both sides demands finesse, adaptability and patience.

I got my first taste of in-lawing when my older children dated. I tried to be exemplary -- polite and interested in the significant other, but I discovered a hard truth: It's a mistake to get too attached. When my oldest son and his first girlfriend split after three years, I was disconsolate. "Who broke up here?" my husband demanded. "The kids or you?"

Then my only daughter wed, and the sister-in-law of a friend, a woman with vast experience parenting married children, shared this essential wisdom: Show up and shut up. Truer words have never been spoken.

I learned to call before stopping by. I learned to avert my eyes. I learned to keep my mouth shut. No easy thing this, but over time and with more practice -- another child married -- I perfected the bitten-tongue position or, at the very least, learned to rein in my incessant curiosity and swallow my unsolicited opinions. More than acquiring a new role, it was like adopting a new persona.

See, I ask a lot of questions, and this can be misconstrued. What the parents do for a living, for example, or the ultimate educational goal of the girlfriend may not be safe subjects.

I'm also known to cantar las verdades, a tell-it-like-it-is trait that I inherited from my mother. I always figured that to raise responsible children, I needed to provide regular reality checks. Well, guess what? To keep harmony, sometimes you've got to do your truth-telling to the mirror.

My fourth son, the youngest at 16, has a cute, new girlfriend. I met her recently, and though I feel like an old pro at these encounters, he found it necessary to lay some ground rules first.

Don't ask too many questions, he said.

Of course I would check my journalist's training at the door.

And don't intimidate her.

That was a shock. Me, intimidating?

"Yes," he said. 'It's just who you are."

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Make a Toast to Their Love, Then Zipper Your Mouth