My husband knows
Mr. Darcy. He is familiar with Jane
and Lizzy, their younger sisters, parents, the horrible Mr. Wickham, and if
truth be told has also met Emma Woodhouse, Elinor and Marianne, Anne Elliot,
Cpt. Wentworth, witnessed Louisa’s horrible fall at Lyme, and knows what truth is
“universally acknowledged.”* In
fact, at one glance he can determine whether Elizabeth Bennet is of the BBC
Bennet family, or hails from Universal Studios.
Which, when translated to practicalities, means: roughly five hours verses
two. This in turn dictates whether he
should head for the hills or wait it out.
On the other
hand, as his wife of 15 years (we celebrated our anniversary last week), I know
that radioactive spiders create superheroes, can recognize whether it is
Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, George Clooney, or Christian Bale’s eyes behind the
dark mask, have seen Robert Downey Jr transform into a man of iron more times
than I can count, and for that matter know the difference between a man of iron
and one of steel. And just when I
thought I had seen enough gigantic lizards to last a life time, another appears
bigger, better, and without the Japanese accent. I can tell by my husband’s full face
smile and glittering, glassy eyes, that we are headed to the movie
theater. Or hopefully, if open, the
drive-in. At least I will get pop-corn
out of the deal and will ignore the calorie count.
Dave and I are a
typical marriage of opposites. I like to
call ahead for vacation reservations. He
likes to hop in the car and see where it takes us. I like formal invites when visiting friends. He likes to drop in unannounced. Our first
big disagreement occurred seconds after arriving home from our honeymoon. He had a large bachelor pad sofa with rips
and tears and stuffing pouring out the side.
He loved it. I hated it. While
we were away some friends removed the beast (I learned later they had to use a
chainsaw to cut it down to size and get it out the door). A wedding present for me. For Dave?
Not so much. In fact the whole
décor of his house, now our house, was a point of contention.
Our second argument,
now legendary, was over a fence in the backyard. I wanted a fence. Our backyard borders a college fraternity
house and I wanted a nice, four foot, wooden privacy fence. Dave agreed about a fence but wanted chain
link and twelve feet high, to protect our neighbors’ windows from loose
basketballs. We could not find common
ground. Even now, several broken windows
later, we still do not have a fence and were not even able to discuss it calmly
until a few years ago. Now it is a
joke. How could something so silly cause
so much heated debate? We recently
attended a 50th anniversary party for friends and I was amused and
encouraged to hear them talk about their marital skirmishes and admit they had
some subjects in their past that they let remain buried out of love and respect
for each other. In the long run, the
differences just don’t matter that much anymore.
As I reflect on my
marriage I realize it has taught me the art of compromise, submission prompted
by love, to put another person first, to truly listen and ask questions until
there is understanding, to not assume, and to put the brakes on my temper. I
have learned, made mistakes, learned some more, made more mistakes, been
forgiven, and granted forgiveness. There
have been ups and downs. There are many
ways that we are still opposites. For every Jane Austin movie there has been a
Godzilla flick. Yet surprisingly we have
grown more and more like minded. And when
I question if I would do it again, marry my husband knowing what I know now, the
answer is: yes, in a heartbeat.
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is
not proud. It is not rude, it is not
self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices
with the truth. It always protects,
always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.” I Corinthians 13:4-8a.
*“Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austin.
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