OK – So Hubby isn’t ALL Bad
Posted by thedarwinexception on November 4, 2006
So, NJM asked for it, and Darkon found it, so I’ll post it.
A long time ago, in a Usenet group far, far away, I made a post. The post was a response to another person in the group who asked me “Gee, why did you marry your husband? You guys are so different!” Which we are, I admit. He’s a biker, I’m a computer geek, he’s tall and muscular, I’m short and thin, he likes the outside, I like the inside, he is friendly and outgoing, I hate people and am anti-social. It just doesn’t seem like we would get along, let alone be married.
So, I explained to her why I married him. This is that post. Oddly enough, reading it again now, all these years later, I still feel exactly the same way. Well, except when I’m pissed at him.
Ok, I can’t take it anymore. Kim, how did you end up with your husband, when your interests (seem to) be so different from his? Did he get into the biker thing after you got married or what? I just have to know. In my head, you’re the Beauty and he’s the Beast, only unlike the fairy tale, he has lots of other beastie friends
I met him at work, and even though I didn’t like him at first, he says he fell in love with me at first sight. I fell in love with him when we were on a company outing on a cruise ship. We danced together all night long. (That was a long time ago…)
And he’s always been a biker dude. We are *total* opposites. I would rather be stuck in my little office, working on my computer, reading my Stephen King books, watching Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals on my DVD player. He’d rather be hanging with his bro’s, working on his Harley, having a tattoo party, drinking beers and gettin’ rowdy.
He’s 6 foot 3, around 240 pounds, long hair, long goatee beard, dressed all in leather and chains and skullcaps, with tattoos like the grim reaper and headstones and skulls and stuff.
I’m 5 foot 2, extremely petite, long auburn hair, dressed in perky little sundresses.
But – as they say, opposites attract. I guess we prove that they do. I’ve had several serious relationships in my life (I even had a previous husband), but I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love Paul. He treats me better than I could ever expect anyone to.
He is *always* there for me, no matter what I need, or when I need it. I can depend on him, and rely on him. He protects me when I feel vulnerable, and doesn’t allow me to feel too sorry for myself. He makes me laugh with his silly, romantic ways, like singing my favorite songs to me with his own improvised lyrics. He adores my sons, and they adore him. He helped me to raise them to the wonderful people they are now, and without his influence and guidance I think things could have turned out differently.
He’s proud of me, and he respects me for strengths I sometimes think I don’t even have. He brings out the best in me by downplaying all my many faults, and spurring me on to do my best at the things I am good at. He makes me a better person by loving me, and trusting in my abilities when I don’t.
We rarely argue, and when we do, it’s about minor things, or my frustrations with life in general. He’s a spendthrift, I’m a “saver”; he’s totally outgoing and friendly, I’m generally anti-social; he’s an outdoors person, I’m a stay indoors type of person; he lives for his Harley, I live for my computer; I like Musicals and Broadway shows, he likes ESPN and Speedvision; he’s a dreamer, I am a realist. So, naturally, we clash on lots of petty things like “why are your friends here *again*?” “*Where* did all your money go?”, “I am *not* watching ‘Cats’ again.” But, generally, the arguments end with a quick “None of your guff, missy”, which never fails to bring a smile to my face.
But, I just love him with all my heart. I love his dimples, the way he smiles, the way he looks at me with his piercing green eyes, and with every look I know he’s saying he loves me with all of his heart, too. I love the fact that no matter what he does, or what he has, or what he is, he always dreams of tomorrow, and what he *will* be, or what he will have, or what he will do. He makes me have hope. He has goals and plans, and works hard, and makes them come true.
I know you started that thread on “what makes you rich or poor”, and I refrained from adding it there, but I did want to tell you then, and maybe I should now, that material things will never make you rich, they just make you a slave to them. The more you have, the bigger the place you have to have to keep them, and the bigger the place you have, the more stuff you have to have to fill it. But, in the end, that’s all you end up with, is a big place, full of stuff. The real thing that makes you rich is making a difference in someone’s life. Leaving a mark on someone who then maybe, just maybe, will make a mark on someone else because of it.
When my grandmother died, a lot of her possessions were sold, given away, or thrown out, but the knowledge and the love that she gave to all of us grandchildren can never be sold, or thrown away, and that is her legacy. She was a very poor woman, but she left us an abundance of her talent for music, her love of knitting and crocheting, her special secret recipes, these are the things she was rich in. I suspect that *your* real riches will be shown in the children who you will someday teach, and the life lessons you give to them, not in your PDA’s and your cell phones; and the talents and love you will bestow on your own children will make more of a mark than any SUV or house you’ll buy.
I know that you haven’t been married very long, and I hope for you what I know I have with Paul, someone who will stand by you when the worst happens, not only when the best happens. Since I have been diagnosed with my illness I have taken stock of a lot of things in my life, looked around at what was important to me, and where some of my priorities should lie. The only true thing that has shown through is that if I don’t have a long time left to be here – I know that this is where I want to be, and that this is the person I want to be with. I know that as (and if) I get more and more incapacitated, if I get to the point where I can’t even speak, he will be the one person who will be able to look at me and *know* what I am saying, because he is better at reading straight through to my heart than anyone has ever been.