And why I don’t give a sh*t
One of my favorite television shows is a British sitcom from the 90s called Keeping Up Appearances. The show centers around an eccentric status seeker named Hyacinth Bucket who contends that her surname is pronounced “Bouquet”. Hyacinth doggedly attempts to prove her social standing with those who she considers “upper class” while she simultaneously struggles to conceal her low-class extended family. The comedy of the show stems from the conflict between Hyacinth’s vision of herself as socially superior and the reality of her underclass status through her dealings with her family’s daily debacles.
I love this show because it reminds me of my own family, and I can laugh at them despite the underlying discomfort of pretense. I was raised in a middle-class family where appearances meant everything. My parents paraded their six children down the aisles of our church and seated us in the front row so we could display our “perfect family” to the entire congregation. Wherever we went, at school, at sporting events, and neighborhood barbecues, it was required that we appear as a happy, well-adjusted, overachieving, model family.
We were far from perfect. There was a lot of abuse in my house. I was unhappy, and therefore I couldn’t pull off the act of keeping up appearances. But my brothers and sisters were, and still are, masters at the art of feigning a blissful life. My sister considers our family superior to most and even created the adage, “we gather, we eat, we celebrate ourselves,” a phrase that Hyacinth “Bouquet” would most likely dictate at one of her “candlelight suppers.”
It’s easy to laugh at Keeping Up Appearances. But imagine what might happen if a family of Hyacinths had to deal with an actual tragedy. What if the weakest link was in an abusive marriage? How would they react to the news that the family scapegoat not only failed to portray the perfect family but then also was the victim of sexual abuse and a murder attempt?
I will tell you.
Where most families would pull together to support their loved one unconditionally, the family bent on concealing their dirty little secrets would throw the victim under the double-decker bus. They’d blame the victim for driving him to it. They’d eagerly do the bidding of the abuser and his flying monkeys just to save face. And they would get in line and parade themselves into a courtroom to support the criminal who violated one of their own.
The “perfect family” would condemn the family scapegoat without a second thought in order to distance themselves from the discomfort and embarrassment surrounding her sexual abuse. They’d alienate her and refuse to talk about the ugly details. They’d insist that there be no police presence near their homes because, in my mother’s words, “what would the neighbors think” if a cop did a drive-by to ensure the victim’s safety? Like Hyacinth, mom would have had apoplexy knowing outsiders were aware that her daughter was fleeing domestic violence.
The “perfect family” would gather and eat and celebrate themselves.
Keeping Up Appearances is a gem of a show. It’s a comedic train wreck of discomfort and family dysfunction. But Hyacinth Bucket, dressed in her print dresses with matching hats and gloves, always supported her extended family in the end, despite her disdain for their lack of class. And I think her fictional character is socially superior to the real characters in my family.
