I was an early bloomer when it came to books and education, and definitely late when it came to men. At 65, I now know that I needed to know myself before I could be attached at the hip to another. When we married nearly 23 years ago, we asked a Navy Captain (Ret.) to marry us and his wife of 52 years to bear witness to our civil union. It was only then that we heard their meet-cute story.
J & J met at Annapolis when he was a cadet. He asked her out twice and she already had other plans. He said he’d ask her out once more then move on. She said yes and they married, again at Annapolis, five weeks later. This couple went on to have three wonderful sons, who still call me “sis.” They were stationed in many places and he worked while she tended the boys and conducted the moves et al. I’m sure the Captain kept his fleet ship-shape with necessary discipline. But when I asked him to marry us, he took a moment outside his living room and when he returned, I believe he’d shed a tear.
When J said yes to us, he already had a condition, that he write the vows. Yes, we said. “Only if I can type them up for you,” said I. He was a very strong, self-assured, caring man who loved his wife and family to the end. We flew cross-country to Annapolis for his burial, where his widow accepted a challenge coin from the Secretary of the Navy.
It is said that girls look to marry their fathers. Perhaps that is somewhat the case. Even though things were quite different in the late 1950’s when I was born, Dad always said I could be an astronaut, or president, or anything I wanted to be. Everyone on our street played two-base softball and touch football every summer night, or Dad wouldn’t play. We even helped toddlers hold a bat and carried them to base!
My first “boyfriend” lasted two weeks, I was 16 1/2, until spring break when he came back with a cheerleader. He told me once that if we married I could work for a while, but only for “pin money,” whatever that is. We dated again after a couple of years, and in my senior year of college we got engaged, I called it off because I needed to get out and be on my own. I couldn’t in good conscience go from my father’s home to a college dorm to a forever life with a husband and never experience life on my own to really get to know me.
The recent spate of toxic masculinity that has erroneously been equated with strength is an anathema to me. When I look at men I respect there are certain qualities they all have in common. None need to denigrate others to show strength, hurt the weak or helpless, or judge others by their gender, race or religion. I consider myself incredibly lucky to hold my Dad, my father-in-law and my husband as exemplary in regard to strong, intelligent, caring men.
I am my husband’s business partner, editor, advisor, cheerleader, critic, person to hold hands with walking down the street, co-parent (to dogs). Retired to semi-tradwife, I am the chief cook and bottlewasher, and dog disciplinarian (and food wench). He’s a mathematical genius, nerd city, very analytical, high EQ capacity. When I was in a coma for a month, the nurses created a “bed” for him in my room so he could stay by my side, they even “nuked” a blanket for him at night. He’s a keeper, and he keeps me even when I’m a challenge. He even brought our old dog into the ICU to see me.
When it comes to life partners, it can’t be a zero sum game. Fifty percent of the population can’t be told they don’t deserve a seat at the table. Political leaders can’t stake their claim to sending women back to the 1850’s without a serious re-jiggering of society and I, for one, will never go back.
I believe that people are stronger together than apart. That goes for nations as well. Our melting pot nation has to get with the program and be in it for each other, not just ourselves. Toxic masculinity is just that, toxic to all. Onward and upward! VOTE! Dee
Cooking with Dee 