Back in “The Uniter – Part 2”, the statement was made, "One man wrote a piece he called, “My Girl” (to be posted soon) about how he had found inspiration and joy in his wife." I want to follow through on that.
First, though, there is a reason I wrote this story. It seems to me that the youth of today are being hemmed in on all sides by rules, regulations, and adults looking down on them, expecting them to be perfect. This they cannot be, as they are human beings too.
It has been my experience as a father and grandfather that any time we older folks get together and tell stories of our youth that our kids flock together from all directions to listen avidly. It seems to be something that builds unity between the generations as the youth can see that we aren’t perfect either. They can identify with our youthful mistakes and feelings.
Then again, it seems to help them come to terms with their own imperfections.
My Girl
I’m not a perfect husband and father – no man is, just as there is no such thing as a perfect wife. I won’t go into those imperfections except to say that I am able to look directly into the eyes of my wife and daughters, and it feels good.
The subject of my little freckle-faced girl comes up quite often in my conversation with others, and most will recognize that I love her dearly. It’s the conditions under which we met, fell in love, and eventually married that are a little different than usual. We violated nearly every bit of modern conventional wisdom there is in the process.
I suppose it started long before I met her. I was in high school, and it seemed to be the “in” thing to laugh and joke about girls. The guys would laughingly advocate the “4-F” policy (“Find them, feel them, f--- them, forget them”), and the very concept revolted me so much that I’d just shake my head and walk away. All I could think of was that these were the most beautiful creatures ever created, meant to be our mates and partners, and it simply boggled the mind that anyone could be so stupid as to treat them in such a contemptuous manner. The result was that anything I learned from my peers was suspect and almost automatically thrown out.
This impression was strengthened later on. I graduated and moved to Southern California, where I became apprenticed to my Grandfather as a house painter. There were just the two of us working together, and the relationship became very close. Few were the subjects that we didn’t cover in depth, as he was easy to talk to and interested in what was said.
One day in particular we were speaking of women and romance in general and he told me something that echoes in my mind still. “Tom, when you marry, don’t corrupt her with the things you see and hear in the world. Those men who do find out later that they have defecated in their own bed.” I had a sense of his meaning then, but later it became very clear.
I’d headed for Southern California about three days after graduating from high school. As luck would have it, I arrived on a Thursday, and the religious denomination we belonged to was having a wedding on Saturday. I couldn’t but help grin at myself, because the bride was now obviously out of circulation and that cut down on the possible choices. How disappointing! I probably wouldn’t have gone due to having never met them, but strangely enough, the bride’s last name was the same as mine, Howell. Then too, I heard she had some sisters.
So I went out of curiosity – and was disappointed again. Yes, she had sisters. One was sixteen and pretty as a picture, but she already had a boyfriend. The next one younger was only thirteen. Sure, she was cute, but she was just too young. I lost interest and moved on.
I dated a couple of times during the next six months. They were strictly the hamburger and a drive-in movie type of things and I never dated the same girl twice. I didn’t do anything questionable during those dates, but they would be so nervous and suspicious that I was made to feel that I couldn’t even scratch my nose without having them drop into a karate stance, figuratively speaking. Forget it.
So I concentrated on learning the painting trade and spending time with a couple of buddies exploring the desert and chasing jackrabbits with an old Model A Ford pickup.
But there was something that bothered me and it was one of those types of things that seem to creep into your consciousness from who knows where and makes you restless. I’d see the Howell girls at our services about once a week and it dawned on me that while the 13 year-old was extremely quiet and shy, there was also an air of sadness about her. I . . . no, that should not be. Something’s wrong.
After a time I learned what. Her father had died of leukemia two years previously, and she was skipping huge amounts of school in order to care for the house and her younger brother and sister while her Mom worked to support them. No wonder.
So again with no idea of romance, I would approach her and make some comment, hoping to brighten her day a little. Sometimes it would be a joke about her last name (which, of course, was the same as mine, which made it a safe subject) sometimes something else. Most of the time I’d get a smile, but not once did I get a word out of her. But those smiles! It reminded me of the sun coming out on a gloomy day and would simply transfigure her into another person entirely. That was all I was asking.
So the six months passed. Our faith had an arrangement where numerous congregations would gather together a few times a year for a convention and one was scheduled for about that time. We all went and on Saturday something happened that I’ll never forget as long as I live.
I’d been assigned as an usher. Walking in the front door well before the sessions and spotting her and her family already sitting in the front row, I waved, then headed towards the back where my post was, not thinking anything more about it.
About 5 minutes later her little 8 year-old brother Vernon trotted up to me with a big grin and chirped. “Linda wants to talk to you.” That blew me away! I’d never gotten a word out of her the entire time I knew her! What’s going on here???
So I headed back up front with my brain hammering like a boiler factory – and then I knew. Turning to Vern, I fixed him with a fishy eye and shook my finger under his nose. “Who told you to tell me that Linda wanted to talk to me?”
That grin spread from ear to ear. “Donna and Johnny!”
“That’s what I figured,” I drawled, looking at him all askance. They were teasing her and had set her up. I started to turn back and save the poor kid the mortification when I looked up and saw her coming. What could I do?
To my utter astonishment she walked directly up in front of me and, while blushing as pretty as a picture, her eyes met mine without wavering. Then I heard these quiet words: “Donna and Johnny were teasing me because I like you.”
Never in my entire life had I seen such honesty and courage as was reflected in that little girl’s eyes!
Yes, there was five years between us, but I had found what I was looking for. I took her hand and now, 50 years later, I am still holding it.
At the end of the assembly on Sunday we arranged for our first date to take place on the next Saturday evening. On Thursday I received a letter. “I can’t go! I have the measles!”
So we waited for yet another week. I drove the 25 miles to her home and picked her up, then headed back as there were no movies being shown in her small town.
Sure enough, the silence continued just like the first six months. I tried to start a conversation, but I could get no word out of her at all – until about half way back. Then suddenly and with no warning at all, she turned to me with shining eyes and said in a breathless voice, “You know, I’m afraid my two older sisters will have the whole world populated before I have a chance!” Talk about knocking a fellow for a loop! From that moment on I knew who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with!
We continued to date about once a week and those dates were vastly different than any dates I’d ever had before. She was glad to be with me and told me that she felt safe in my presence. Her trust and faith was the most refreshing and inspiring thing I had ever known and was the greatest complement of which I could conceive. There just seemed to be no question in her mind.
But did I want her? You bet I did! But at the same time I would have rather cut an arm off than betray that trust! I figured it this way: Proving myself trustworthy before marriage will provide a solid foundation for the rest of our lives.
So I walked the straight and narrow and it was one of the hardest things I ever did. I remember one time (she’s gonna clobber me for telling this story!) we got back to her place after the movie and sat in the car hating to part. We’d talk for a while, then smooch for a while, etc., until it was finally so late that we had no choice. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a goodbye kiss that was something to remember!
And now I had a problem. “Uh, honey, would you mind if I don’t walk you to the door?”
“Why?”
“Um, well, I think it would be best.”
“But why?”
“Uh, well, umm . . .” and I proceeded to stumble all over myself in trying to come up with some believable excuse – and failed utterly.
Now she was getting concerned. “Don’t you feel well?” She asked, feeling my forehead to see if I had a fever.
“No, no. That’s not the problem. I feel just fine!”
“Then why?”
It was becoming quite apparent that there was no way I was going to get out of there without some explanation, but how in heck was I going to tell this little girl that I had a boner about the size of a redwood tree and still retain her trust? I racked my mind for something, anything, even a little white lie, but nothing came.
Finally out of desperation I thought I might use a simile to get the point across without being too crass about it, and managed to stammer out, “Uh . . . well . . . uh . . . umm – do you know what rigor mortis is?”
A look of utter bewilderment crossed her face. “No.” Aww, man!
So I had to explain rigor mortis. “Have you ever walked out on the desert and run across a dead animal and seen how they get stiff as a board after they die?”
There was a look of absolute horror on her face as she slowly nodded her head yes. Was I dying? It seemed the further I went the deeper I got! However, I managed to continue, “When an animal gets stiff like that, we say that it has rigor mortis, and – and I guess you could say that in a way a certain portion of my anatomy has rigor mortis right now.”
It took a second or two and then the light dawned. Oh, man, did it dawn! A glorious look of joy and happiness lit up her face, she threw her arms around me again, and gave me a kiss that curled my toenails all the way up to my knees! Then she happily trotted into the house.
Me? I managed to start the car and took off, floating about 10 feet above the pavement. About a mile down the road I crossed a railroad track and promptly got ran over by a train. (Okay, okay, so it was 3 switch engines and they were only moving about 5 mph. They put a dent in the fender and knocked the wheels out of line, but I couldn’t have cared less.)
About six months after our first date I moved back north. We wrote often and I lived for those letters. It was through the mail that I proposed and she accepted.
Another year and a half passed. She came north and we married. I was 20, and she was 15, four months shy of 16.
I was concerned about her age, so we planned on waiting for about 5 years before having any kids. We studied up on contraception, took the most recommended method, and followed it faithfully. Sure enough, she was pregnant within the month! It was a textbook pregnancy, and one of the most beautiful things I ever saw was the look on her face when the nurse put the baby in her arms.
Afterwards we were especially careful with the contraceptive, yet three months later she was pregnant again! It seemed that all I had to do was look at her cross-eyed and she’d be pregnant! All went well this time too. Now I was 22 and she was seventeen, we had two little kids, very little money and a whole lot of growing up to do. It wasn’t easy, but there was only one thing that counted: We had each other.
This time we figured out what was causing the pregnancies. (Actually, we switched contraceptives.) I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to allow my girl to be run ragged by our kids like so many women are and that she was going to enjoy her motherhood. I tried hard to accomplish that end and the results were beyond all expectations!
Every five years after the second was born she would want another one, so it wasn’t long before we had five. Another eight years passed and then one day she came to me and looked up into my eyes. “Just one more?” Now we have six kids ranging in age from 50 to 26.
I suppose that the “politically correct” crowd will have a fit about our ages during our romance and when we married, and the religious prudes will get all huffy about the “rigor mortis” part, but I’ve got a little message for them: "Get stuffed." When you figure out how to make your relationships with your “significant others” last as long as ours has, when you learn the meaning of commitment and responsibility that we already knew in our teens, and when you pass those values on to your kids as we have – then and only then will you have the right to speak.
But there is a special reason why I tell this tale.
I spent a lot of years driving truck, and I have no idea how many nights I spent on the road pondering and marveling over the beauty I had seen through this girl and the things we were able to accomplish together. Gradually I came to understand that I had seen a lot more than just her.
For instance, in her words on that first date, I had a window straight into her heart and realized that in a very real way I was seeing both the girl and our Creator. Think of it this way: If I had asked her why she felt that way, she couldn’t have answered. That desire was just there, an integral part of what she was, and it was placed there by the one who formed her. Just as one can tell things about an artist by looking at their work, so I could identify things about our Creator’s personality by examining the things he made. In both parties I saw a breathtaking amount of beauty.
Later on, the warm response of some of the hard-bitten and bitter women to whom I spoke of these things reinforced this impression. The quiet and wistful words of a woman truck driver on a bus, and a hooker’s lamented “little girl dreams” haunt me. This appears to be the natural manner in which women were designed and will respond to – if given a chance. But unfortunately all too often bitterness, suspicion, and cynicism inhibit the expression of those natural tendencies before they even begin.
It was here that I realized I had an advantage over most other men. This girl came to me before the world had a chance to corrupt her, and I was seeing what she was meant to be and could experience the power to inspire that is inherent within her. Preserving that was of paramount importance.
I think I sensed that even then. I remember thinking to myself that my role here was similar to a gardener. He might be able to plant a seed and may even know the type of flower that will come from it, but he has no idea exactly how it will turn out. Like him, I could cultivate the ground, provide plenty of nutrients, water, and sunlight, but I didn’t have the knowledge and wisdom to micromanage the growth process or determine exactly what she would become. So it was that she grew and I grew right along with her.
Sometimes I’ll hear someone today speaking against marriage saying: “She’s all right now, but what will she be like in 10 years?” I’ll just shake my head, appalled. Growing up together, watching each other’s progress, leaning on and encouraging each other during the hard times – is a wonderful and unforgettable joy. The thought “What do I get out of it?” doesn’t even come into play. Rather, both realize that what they can build together is far greater than anything they could build separately. They are partners in the true sense, each with their own unique strengths.
Another memory came back, that of a scripture that was almost always interpreted as pertaining to sex, but that had always left me feeling that we’re missing something here. I refer to Proverbs 5: 15-20.
“Drink water out of your own cistern, and tricklings out of the midst of your own well. Should your springs be scattered out of doors, (your) streams of water in the public squares themselves? Let them prove to be for you alone, and not for strangers with you. Let your water source prove to be blessed, and rejoice with the wife of your youth, a lovable hind and a charming mountain goat. Let her own breasts intoxicate you at all times. With her love may you be in an ecstasy constantly. So why should you, my son, be in an ecstasy with a strange woman or embrace the bosom of a foreign woman?”
I sensed this scripture referred to more than just sex. We associate springs and water with refreshment, and while sex can be refreshing, only those men who are fools think that sex is the only type of refreshment to be gained in this arrangement. The females of the human race appear to be the storehouses of the gentler qualities that make life worth living. To butt one’s head against the world all day and come home tired, discouraged, and angry, only to meet her and see the care and faith in her eyes, is a restorative that is unmatched anywhere and is the stuff of legend and song. Without it, the harshness of life builds up in a man until he becomes as hard and unfeeling as it is.
And perhaps that’s a lesson in itself.
I don’t agree that men come from Mars and women come from Venus. We both come from the Earth. We both respond to the influences around us in much the same manner. Sometimes horrible situations come up that must be dealt with, and if there is no antidote handy the same hardening effect happens to both. If we both become hard and unfeeling, then what?
Perhaps we should reexamine the man/woman relationship and show it a little more respect.