"Don't Get Married" I said
Sat., September 2, 04:04 PM
I say it all the time: “Don’t get married.” It’s thirty-eight years today, and I still say so. What it means is “think twice” – at least – before making the decision. So what am I doing here?
I met my husband at a rather strange time in my life. I was coming into my own, gaining the confidence that I could be the person I wanted to be. One of my favorite songs at the time was sung by Sammy Davis, Jr. – “…I’ll go it alone, that’s how it must be. I can’t be right for somebody else if I’m not right for me…” I was beginning to realize that male companionship, pleasant as it might be, was not the be-all and end-all of my existence.
Enter this new man, a man who wanted to be married. I was ready to back off, but he was appealing in his way, a very gentle person. I found myself worrying about him; he had plenty of friends, but very few that I thought would come through for him if he needed it.
I know you’re going to ask about physical attraction, but I will only tell you that it existed. Not only am I reluctant to discuss such matters, but it would embarrass the heck out of my kids. In any case, I think that, even in my youth and innocence, I knew that wasn’t enough for a permanent relationship. How long could he go on calling me beautiful?
We got along well, and we liked a lot of the same things. We especially liked the same kind of music. (That is, I liked the kind he preferred. He didn’t like all the kinds of music I listened to, but that didn’t really matter, did it?) We had a lot of the same goals in life.
We announced our engagement barely three months after we met, and we were married three months after that. It was a small traditional wedding, held in a synagogue with about a hundred guests. Mostly my mother was paying her social obligations, but it’s good to start out with the support of friends and family. And I made a private vow to myself: I would never leave him. Starting with the loss of his parents when he was an infant, he had a fear of abandonment. (I never said anything about murder, of course.) I also provided him with three individuals who will love him forever, and I think that was a surprise to him. He always got along well with kids, but he had no idea what it would be like to have children of his own.
As I said, we had similar life goals – a home, a family. Perhaps even more important, we each wanted to make the other happy. (It would be years before I realized, he didn’t have to be quite that happy.) We were a good combination because each of us tended to fill in what the other one lacked.
No, he didn’t always understand me. I’m sure I didn’t always understand him. He tolerated my passion for baseball, but he never understood “Star Trek.” I learned enough about football to watch it with him.
We were both careful about how we spent our money, but he never understood why I would spend money on books. He was afraid that any woman who went on a diet was preparing to “run around.” That’s not my style. I had trouble with his desire to accumulate junk and his complete inability to discard any of it. According to their wives, it seems to be a problem for a lot of the guys who grew up in the Home. He still turns off the light when there’s no one in the room, even for a minute, but he leaves the radio on round-the clock.
We took care of each other. I can’t stress that enough; it’s the basis of our history together. There were times when I needed the support, like when the babies were little. Other times he was the one who needed the help, and I was there. Never was there a question about whether we’d be there for each other. I’m still here.
No, he’s not the same man I married. He’s disabled and needs care, and he’s cantankerous about it. He behaves better for other people than he does for me, and I have said that’s because he doesn’t like me any more. It may or may not be true, but he never denies it.
Am I sorry I got married? No, I gained more than I missed – including three lifelong friends – to ever regret my marriage. But I sure as heck wouldn’t do it again!
My advice stands – except to my Son and Ms. P., for whom I wish and hope the success we had.
