Wife has earned her spot in photo

Maybe — after more than 45 years — my wife can get in the family picture.
It was sometime around 1969 or 1970. Connie and I had been “an item,” as the old folks say, since the spring 1968, and we would wed in June 1971.
But in that in-between period, sometimes her family status was a little iffy.
Take that Thanksgiving gathering I’ve been remembering.
The Ronald clan had gathered either in Portland or Richmond. If we were in Portland, the tribe had assembled on Main Street at my Uncle Stu and Aunt Martha Sue’s house. If we were in Richmond, there were a number of options. It could have been at my parents’ house or my Uncle Jim and Aunt Dorothy’s place or even at the fellowship hall of First Presbyterian Church.
Those details are a little fuzzy.
What’s not fuzzy is that some of my aunts and uncles weren’t quite sure where Connie fit in the family.
They kidded us routinely about our “public displays of affection” as such things used to be called.
Aunt Dorothy, at one point, even knitted three mittens for us: One for me, one for Connie, and a shared one so we could hold hands.
But at the same time, there were family traditions and protocol to uphold.
She might be the love of my life, but — in some eyes — she wasn’t quite a member of the family yet.
So they hedged their bets.
After all, I might end up behaving like a jerk and the relationship would explode before the next Thanksgiving. Or she might be wooed by some Lochinvar on a white horse with far better prospects than I had and disappear into the sunset.
At any rate, while family members were welcoming and cordial, some of them also maintained a measure of reserve. No one was rude, but it was clear the jury was still out.
And then someone suggested a family photo.
Like most big families, mine took a lot of pictures. And many of the best ones — the ones that still strike an emotional chord — were taken at Thanksgiving or Christmas gatherings. My favorites are the ones before I was born or when I was still a bundle of potentially full diaper to be passed around the room. Taken together, the group shots provide an important family record for generations to come.
So it wasn’t a surprise when somebody suggested we all line up — tallest in the back, kids sitting cross-legged on the floor in the front — for a group portrait.
I grabbed my girlfriend and we took our position.
And Aunt Dorothy demurred.
Speaking softly but distinctly in what can best be described as a stage whisper, she wondered to another aunt whether it was appropriate for Connie to be in the family photo.
After all, she wasn’t family — yet. Wouldn’t it confuse future generations if this random girlfriend who never married that guy with the long hair showed up in one photo but never appeared in another? Was that within the bounds of family tradition?
Connie took the hint. I was appalled, but she stepped out of the photo and allowed Thanksgiving with the Ronald family to be commemorated without her.
What do you think? I figure after more than 45 years of putting up with me she ought to be front and center.
And I think Aunt Dorothy would understand.