The Backyard Church of Love
There’s a little piece of family lore my cousins and I still laugh about every Thanksgiving—the story of how my Auntie Mary accidentally started a backyard matchmaking service. This wasn’t some formal OkCupid situation. Nah, this was Beaumont, Texas, where church pews were social epicenters, sweet tea counted as currency, and Auntie Mary’s porch was the closest thing we had to therapy in the early 2000s.
You’d come over for cornbread and collard greens, and you’d leave with unsolicited romantic advice, a date for Saturday night, and a full casserole dish to boot. Whether it was a neighbor complaining about their “no-good husband” or my cousin Lamar’s lament about never finding someone who met his standards (which, frankly, were just Beyoncé in all her iterations), Auntie Mary, in her infinite wisdom—and unrelenting nosiness—had “someone perfect in mind.”
Let’s just say, growing up in this hub of unsolicited love advice shaped the way I see relationships—and taught me a thing or two about how love stories get written, sometimes with more typos than polished endings. As messy as Auntie Mary could be (she once set up two people who got into a fistfight at Golden Corral), there was a quiet brilliance in her approach. She wasn’t afraid to celebrate vulnerability, let humor skate through awkward moments, and—most importantly—believe in love.
Here are a few lessons Auntie Mary taught me, ones I carry in my heart when thinking about relationships, family, and making connections that matter.
Lesson One: “Everybody got their something.”
Auntie Mary didn’t use the word “red flag.” Instead, she’d wave her wooden cooking spoon at you and say, “You’re too busy looking for an angel when everybody got their something.” In her world, it wasn’t about finding perfect; it was about finding workable. That advice has shaped nearly every relationship decision I’ve made (and some I cleverly avoided).
Take my Uncle Joe, for instance, who was legendarily late to everything—and I mean everything. When Lamar complained about his date showing up twenty minutes behind schedule, Auntie Mary rolled her eyes and said, “Joe’s been late to church the past 47 years, and your Aunt Clara hasn’t killed him yet. What’s your real problem here? You don’t like her laugh? Boy, this ain’t a rom-com; it’s Tuesday night.”
We often carry these extensive lists of deal-breakers into relationships—too short, too loud, doesn’t text back fast enough—but the truth is, flaws are inevitable. I’m not saying you should tolerate toxic behavior or settle for someone who strings you along. But those human imperfections? That’s where the story gets interesting. Sifting through the mundane shortcomings might just land you someone who’ll save the last donut for you—or at least split it.
Lesson Two: The Potluck Rule
If you want to understand Auntie Mary’s philosophy, look no further than her Sunday potlucks—the irresistible draw of her backyard church of love. Everybody brought what they had: one cousin showed up with mac and cheese hot out the oven, while someone else barely rattled in with a half-eaten Popeye’s box.
The lesson? Relationships are a lot like potlucks. You bring what you have: the good (your late-night jokes), the bad (your ability to mispronounce French menu items), and the ongoing works-in-progress (trust issues, procrastination, or an inability to stop rewatching Scandal). "If you want balance," Auntie Mary said between sips of lemonade, "you need to bring something decent yourself. Don’t just show up thinking you deserve the mac and cheese if all you brought was plastic forks.”
Love, at its core, is about reciprocity. You can’t demand honesty, communication, or kindness from someone else if you’re not also willing to lace those things into your own actions. It’s less about keeping score and more about making sure everyone gets a plate.
Lesson Three: Comedy Over Complaining
I distinctly remember when Auntie Mary sat me down post-breakup—my first real heartbreak at 23—and said, “Baby, if you can’t laugh at it someday, you were probably never ready for that love to begin with.” Was that a little harsh? Yeah. But she wasn’t entirely wrong.
When we’re in a relationship, we tend to romanticize every detail: the long walks, the candlelight dinners, and the subtle way they hummed to music in the car. What we conveniently forget, though, are all the quirks, the petty fights over whether guacamole counts as its own dish or why they drink milk without adding anything to it. Embracing humor means acknowledging that heartbreak, just like love, is an imperfect affair—and sometimes the ridiculousness of it all is what makes life richer.
I learned to turn my pity party into a Netflix marathon of bad rom-coms. I once made a playlist called “Petty, Table for Two” purely to roast my own unrealistic expectations. Auntie Mary would’ve approved—she always said laughter was the only salve for an ego deflated by a bad date or, worse still, ghosting.
Lesson Four: Love Is a Community Affair
If I know anything about the way Auntie Mary brought people together, it’s this: love doesn’t thrive in isolation. Real-life relationships, much like Auntie Mary’s potlucks, require people who will lovingly call you out, cheer when you finally bring someone special to dinner, and pass you a tissue when it all goes south.
Community introduces accountability to our love lives. Trust me, nothing humbles you faster than a Black auntie asking, “When are you bringing over somebody that doesn’t make us side-eye you a little?” But community also enriches every chapter of your relationship. Whether you’re seeking advice, sharing joy, or healing from loss, letting others in on your journey gives your love story a texture it wouldn’t otherwise have.
Conclusion: Everyone’s Auntie Mary Moment
I’ll admit it—at times, Auntie Mary did the most. Not everyone appreciated her matchmaking meddling or her unsolicited “wisdom” when relationships spiraled. But even with her missteps, she believed people could heal and connect. That’s a belief I try to carry forward every time I open myself up to love, whether it’s romantic, platonic, or familial.
We’ve all got an Auntie Mary in our lives—or maybe, deep down, you’re someone else’s. The person who roots for love even when it frustrates, confuses, or straight-up betrays us. The one who sees relationships—the absurd, messy, glorious jumble they are—as moments worth laughing about, learning from, and living for.
So, what do you bring to the potluck? Whatever it is, trust me—everybody got their something.
