The subject of this blog with children. By Anne Scheck
Have you ever been in a situation in which a serious comment strikes you as so amusing that you are forced to tighten up every fiber of your physical being not to laugh out loud? This happened to me on a night many years ago, when a guest in our home, a visiting faculty member that my husband invited to dinner, asked us about blissfully happy couplehood. My husband, a college dean at the time, liked this young professor, who was single and seemed a little lonely. Over an after-dinner glass of wine, we saw him loosen up a bit. Finally, he cleared his throat and told us he wanted to learn our secret, specifically whether our long-term marriage had produced such obvious soulmates or whether we had known this was our destiny when we first laid eyes on each other.
He was completely solemn. He apparently thought we looked perfect together.
There was a period of silence while I worked to stifle a huge guffaw. I finally said: Do you mean those particular periods when we don’t want to be on planes headed to opposite ends of the earth?
I have always been sorry I made that quip, though there was a grain of truth in it. My comment came from the disdain I’ve gained, over the years, for the unrealistic, rosy cloud we place on marriage. I should have said—and I often have—that if you want to have a happy marital outcome, you should marry my husband. Failing that, you should find someone just like him.
If I had to pinpoint what kept us married all these years, it has a whole lot less to do with me than it does with him. I brought only a few benefits to the marriage. I believed in my husband, I could work very hard at a job, during time when this was considered not a necessary trait in woman, and I always was able to take the long view of life.
Also, and this is maybe most important: I knew I was lucky back when we got engaged in college, even though he gave me the ring in a laundromat and told me a romantic dinner was out of the question because, for that price, we could have 10 fun meals at the Taco Shop. I never told friends these details; I knew they’d cringe. I knew this because the one anecdote I did share with them seemed wholly unimpressive--that he’d always put a fresh towel on the passenger seat of his old Rambler before picking me up.
There were fraternity guys in shiny cars, but they weren’t of interest to me. I was born to be rather bohemian, I suppose. And I always suspected any time someone who fit the mold of big-man-on-campus professed interest in me, it was only because I was a nose-to-the-grindstone type, and perhaps seemed a harder catch for a male used to holding females in his thrall. Conversely, my husband seemed completely disinterested in me. His eyes were always in a book, his heart was always in research. It was pretty obvious where his passion lay, and it wasn’t me.
Finally, I asked him to a picnic. He agreed and inquired about how many people would be there. “Two,” I replied. “You and me.” The rest, as they say, is now history…and a wonderful memory that’s now 45 years old.
My husband is the most unflappable man I have ever met. He is also the kindest. If you cut far enough into me, you will find a flow of ick and ooze I am forced to keep at bay. If you slice into my husband you will find a teddy bear with an ice cream sundae.
Still, we both took a leap of faith. He was getting hitched to a woman unlike many he’d known before, who didn’t want a traditional life. I was getting wed to a man who wanted to continue his education but wasn’t sure whether it would pay off. I ended up a journalist; he ended up a college professor. Neither one of us bothered to ask: How much money is there to be made in those professions?
But I did ask myself other questions. I saw my beautiful friend get swept off her feet by a handsome and successful man she’d met, who told her she’d never have to worry about anything again, except her own happiness. They got married in one of the loveliest weddings I’d ever attended. The groom was so striking in his dark tuxedo. The bride was so stunning in layers of white lace. As I watched them take the floor in the inaugural dance at their reception, they seemed to float, bathed by twinkling lights and flickering candles. My friend and her new husband looked like they were the very models for the figurines that topped the wedding cake, perfectly balanced and made for each other.
In contrast, my nuptials took place on a gusty afternoon in a judge’s chambers, while the whipping wind wailed outside. When I told people afterward that we’d eloped, nearly everyone thought I was in a “family way,” the vernacular of the time. But no, we had to be married by a justice of the peace because of his family’s concern he was marrying out of his religion, and my feeling of detachment from my own family, where more than one sibling had referred to me as the “black sheep.” A rocky start is the way most people might describe this marital beginning.
So it came as a shock that a few years later -- as my husband began toiling in graduate school, and I held down two jobs, and we lived in a rental unit made entirely of corrugated tin – and I got word that my beautiful friend, who had waltzed so elegantly with her new spouse at their wedding dance, was getting a divorce. It was then I began to see the mystery of marriage. My husband and I have disagreed on many occasions. Even now, in the time of a covid-19 pandemic, we cannot even concur on what to stock up on the grocery store. If you’ve never heard an argument over whether high-end water is justifiably priced or any other silly kerfuffle over food items, you have never encountered us together at the neighborhood Roth’s.
But if you want to find the guy who is the best at being a dad, he is right here, a father so kindly and cuddly that our daughter keeps looking for him in a man her own age and our son emulates him like a younger twin. And he married me, a woman who always preferred pastel sweatshirts to cashmere sweaters, and never wanted it any other way. His first job promotion—to an assistant dean—was an appointment he never even requested. So was a later elevation to provost.
So he became something of a big fish without ever trying to jump from the puddle. He became a devoted dad without ever taking to that proverbial helicopter, never questioning the decisions of our daughter’s longtime swimming coach or taking too much away from the alpha males who issued him orders in his role as an assistant boy scout leader. He got vexed with my work ethic, but always expressed pride in it. Bad ideas I had are forgotten. Good ones are always a topic of conversation when my name is mentioned. He never complained about reading stories to our children or listening to them tell their own, no matter how long or convoluted their tales of a school day or a birthday party proved to be. They were fascinating accounts to my husband--and one reason why our daughter remains a daddy’s girl and our son remains his dad’s best friend.
An unknown phrase on fatherhood states that a dad is both an anchor for children without holding them back and a guiding lamp that illuminates their path to adulthood. I think the same can be said for a wonderful spouse, too—a steady torch that blazes the way. So happy Father’s Day to my husband, who has provided the kind of love that lit up our lives. And thank you.
Have you ever been in a situation in which a serious comment strikes you as so amusing that you are forced to tighten up every fiber of your physical being not to laugh out loud? This happened to me on a night many years ago, when a guest in our home, a visiting faculty member that my husband invited to dinner, asked us about blissfully happy couplehood. My husband, a college dean at the time, liked this young professor, who was single and seemed a little lonely. Over an after-dinner glass of wine, we saw him loosen up a bit. Finally, he cleared his throat and told us he wanted to learn our secret, specifically whether our long-term marriage had produced such obvious soulmates or whether we had known this was our destiny when we first laid eyes on each other.
He was completely solemn. He apparently thought we looked perfect together.
There was a period of silence while I worked to stifle a huge guffaw. I finally said: Do you mean those particular periods when we don’t want to be on planes headed to opposite ends of the earth?
I have always been sorry I made that quip, though there was a grain of truth in it. My comment came from the disdain I’ve gained, over the years, for the unrealistic, rosy cloud we place on marriage. I should have said—and I often have—that if you want to have a happy marital outcome, you should marry my husband. Failing that, you should find someone just like him.
If I had to pinpoint what kept us married all these years, it has a whole lot less to do with me than it does with him. I brought only a few benefits to the marriage. I believed in my husband, I could work very hard at a job, during time when this was considered not a necessary trait in woman, and I always was able to take the long view of life.
Also, and this is maybe most important: I knew I was lucky back when we got engaged in college, even though he gave me the ring in a laundromat and told me a romantic dinner was out of the question because, for that price, we could have 10 fun meals at the Taco Shop. I never told friends these details; I knew they’d cringe. I knew this because the one anecdote I did share with them seemed wholly unimpressive--that he’d always put a fresh towel on the passenger seat of his old Rambler before picking me up.
There were fraternity guys in shiny cars, but they weren’t of interest to me. I was born to be rather bohemian, I suppose. And I always suspected any time someone who fit the mold of big-man-on-campus professed interest in me, it was only because I was a nose-to-the-grindstone type, and perhaps seemed a harder catch for a male used to holding females in his thrall. Conversely, my husband seemed completely disinterested in me. His eyes were always in a book, his heart was always in research. It was pretty obvious where his passion lay, and it wasn’t me.
Finally, I asked him to a picnic. He agreed and inquired about how many people would be there. “Two,” I replied. “You and me.” The rest, as they say, is now history…and a wonderful memory that’s now 45 years old.
My husband is the most unflappable man I have ever met. He is also the kindest. If you cut far enough into me, you will find a flow of ick and ooze I am forced to keep at bay. If you slice into my husband you will find a teddy bear with an ice cream sundae.
Still, we both took a leap of faith. He was getting hitched to a woman unlike many he’d known before, who didn’t want a traditional life. I was getting wed to a man who wanted to continue his education but wasn’t sure whether it would pay off. I ended up a journalist; he ended up a college professor. Neither one of us bothered to ask: How much money is there to be made in those professions?
But I did ask myself other questions. I saw my beautiful friend get swept off her feet by a handsome and successful man she’d met, who told her she’d never have to worry about anything again, except her own happiness. They got married in one of the loveliest weddings I’d ever attended. The groom was so striking in his dark tuxedo. The bride was so stunning in layers of white lace. As I watched them take the floor in the inaugural dance at their reception, they seemed to float, bathed by twinkling lights and flickering candles. My friend and her new husband looked like they were the very models for the figurines that topped the wedding cake, perfectly balanced and made for each other.
In contrast, my nuptials took place on a gusty afternoon in a judge’s chambers, while the whipping wind wailed outside. When I told people afterward that we’d eloped, nearly everyone thought I was in a “family way,” the vernacular of the time. But no, we had to be married by a justice of the peace because of his family’s concern he was marrying out of his religion, and my feeling of detachment from my own family, where more than one sibling had referred to me as the “black sheep.” A rocky start is the way most people might describe this marital beginning.
So it came as a shock that a few years later -- as my husband began toiling in graduate school, and I held down two jobs, and we lived in a rental unit made entirely of corrugated tin – and I got word that my beautiful friend, who had waltzed so elegantly with her new spouse at their wedding dance, was getting a divorce. It was then I began to see the mystery of marriage. My husband and I have disagreed on many occasions. Even now, in the time of a covid-19 pandemic, we cannot even concur on what to stock up on the grocery store. If you’ve never heard an argument over whether high-end water is justifiably priced or any other silly kerfuffle over food items, you have never encountered us together at the neighborhood Roth’s.
But if you want to find the guy who is the best at being a dad, he is right here, a father so kindly and cuddly that our daughter keeps looking for him in a man her own age and our son emulates him like a younger twin. And he married me, a woman who always preferred pastel sweatshirts to cashmere sweaters, and never wanted it any other way. His first job promotion—to an assistant dean—was an appointment he never even requested. So was a later elevation to provost.
So he became something of a big fish without ever trying to jump from the puddle. He became a devoted dad without ever taking to that proverbial helicopter, never questioning the decisions of our daughter’s longtime swimming coach or taking too much away from the alpha males who issued him orders in his role as an assistant boy scout leader. He got vexed with my work ethic, but always expressed pride in it. Bad ideas I had are forgotten. Good ones are always a topic of conversation when my name is mentioned. He never complained about reading stories to our children or listening to them tell their own, no matter how long or convoluted their tales of a school day or a birthday party proved to be. They were fascinating accounts to my husband--and one reason why our daughter remains a daddy’s girl and our son remains his dad’s best friend.
An unknown phrase on fatherhood states that a dad is both an anchor for children without holding them back and a guiding lamp that illuminates their path to adulthood. I think the same can be said for a wonderful spouse, too—a steady torch that blazes the way. So happy Father’s Day to my husband, who has provided the kind of love that lit up our lives. And thank you.