Let Me Clear My Throat

When I told my husband I was writing a blog about our daily lives, he had but one request.  “Don’t put anything too personal on there.”  Now let me tell you a bit of personal information about my husband.  He is a very reserved and private person.  He doesn’t have a large circle of friends and he’s a guy, so it’s safe for you to conclude that he’s not much of a talker.  At times it seems we are the polar opposites of each other.  But I also find, to unabashedly quote a terrible movie, he completes me.  Our marriage works somehow, miraculously, especially since the events of the past year have caused our time and energies to be focused elsewhere.  I also think it’s safe to conclude about my husband that if he ever reads this blog he will find it mildly amusing but he will no doubt remind me that “people we actually know” will be reading this.  He will say this to me as if I hadn’t considered that a possibility.  Again, he likes to keep things private.  I know him.  He didn’t major in Creative Writing like I did.  He majored in Computer Science.  We have different ways of expressing ourselves.  He doesn’t express himself all that much while I express myself every time someone gives me an opening of “hello.”  I don’t think my husband will truly appreciate the self rendering, naval gazing, confessional booth writing style of a blog unless it will contribute to our household income.  But I don’t require him to appreciate it and I love him regardless, which is a good thing because that’s what I vowed to do.  I let him be him and he lets me be me.  It’s our thing.  It’s why we work.

Since I know it will be a while before my husband has any free time to read his wife’s blog, I’ll take this opportunity to say that my husband is one of two people in my life I consider to be my hero.  My mom is the other.  Before I met my husband, I had a list in my head of what I thought a man should be.  When I met my husband, I forgot about the list.  It was obsolete.  My husband was everything I wanted in a man that I didn’t know I wanted.  He was, and is, exactly what I need.  This is probably going to embarrass him if he reads this. We don’t always have time to talk like this to each other. He is humble and yet proud at the same time of who he is and where he comes from.  He is a man of great character.  He tells the truth, which is very hard for most people to do.  He is always himself in every social situation, at any event, around any group of people.  He doesn’t have one ounce of pretense in his body.  He reminds me of what Popeye said, “I ams what I ams and that’s all that I ams.”  I admire that about him so much.  It’s so rare for people our age to have those qualities.  It’s also rare for people our age to be so intrinsically domestic.  His family means everything to him.  He is a great father.  He is completely head over heels in love with our son.  My son is so blessed to have him as a dad.  He will be one of the greatest blessings of my son’s life, without question.  He is one of the greatest blessings in mine.

I just heard a famous writer say that you have to trust your reader to follow your story and identify with your voice.  He was talking about writing fiction, of course, not a blog.  I am not writing the great American novel right now people.  I know this. I am not Mark Twain, Harper Lee or John Steinbeck, to be sure.  So far about 350 people have viewed my blog and trust me, it doesn’t make me feel any more important today than I felt yesterday cleaning poop off of my son’s butt cheeks.  I know it’s presumptuous for me to address you as the reader in the hopes that anything I have to say will ultimately change your life or your worldview.  (Although, and I am not trying to toot own my horn right now, upon checking my stats the other day I discovered that someone in South Africa is reading my blog. I fantasize that it’s Oprah on one of her trips to see Nelson Mandela or her school for girls.  If it is Oprah, I lied about Wendy Williams.  She is not the queen of daytime.  You are.  You are the queen of everything.  I love you.)  I told you before, I am doing this for me, but it’s also for you, if you want it.  I trust that no matter how personal I get, you are going to come along with me and recognize that my purpose isn’t to manipulate you or to tell you a bit of fiction, it’s to tell you the truth as I know it.  It requires trust on both of our parts.  I feel like I have something important to say, if only to hear myself say it out loud.  It will resonate as you require it to.

I’ve been receiving emails and posts on my facebook page from friends thanking me for saying what so many women are too scared to admit.  Which proves my point that voicing your insecurities and flaws is a good thing; it’s like pulling back the curtains and opening the windows to let other people see into your house.  It’s like talking with your girlfriends over coffee.  Women have a tendency to share everything anyway.  I can’t help it if I get a little personal.  That is the only way some people will ever identify with me.  It’s not like I’m opening the door to my house and letting you sleep on my couch for a month.  But if I do, I trust that you will wipe your feet before coming in and pick up after yourself and leave the key under the mat where you found it when you leave.  (Okay, I think I’ve exhausted that metaphor.)  In college, we learned about the rule “show don’t tell” when writing a story.  I can’t say that this type of medium yields to that rule.  In fact, this type of writing is the direct contradiction to that rule.  I have to tell you everything.  That way, we can be ourselves.  We can be friends.  We can speak the other universal language.  The language of parents.  Once you become one, you love to hear about what other people are going through because it’s so nice to know, “I’m not the only one.”  Isn’t it?

I find it odd and interesting that my husband and I have had so much to deal with in such similar fashions this year.  I just lost my dad and his dad just had a major stroke.  I had to help with the care of my dad and now he is helping to take care of his.  My counselor would have a field day with this.  She would remind me again that most people our age don’t take on this much responsibility.  She would point out how God must have known what we’d be dealing with this year and that’s why we’re together, so we could be strong for each other.  She would say that our individual strengths make up for the other’s weaknesses, that when he’s impersonal and I’m too personal that we can still remain solid, together, unified by trusting in each other.  I’ve carried a tough burden for my dad and now my husband carries one for his.  We are the same, essentially.  We are both too stubborn sometimes to admit this but we need each other in every way you can possibly need someone.  That’s what marriage is supposed to be.  It’s like what one of my favorite songs says, “We’re one, but we’re not the same.  We get to carry each other, carry each other.” 

When you do read this, babe, I want you to know that it’s a privilege to walk with you side by side through this disaster area of our life.  To be carried by you and to carry you through this past year has been an honor.  It’s a privilege to call you mine.  Personally speaking, I wouldn’t have it any other way.