Thanks to everyone who entered our Readers Story competition. Congratulations to Noël Christianson, our first place winner! Her determination not to lower her standards in her search for love is a valuable reminder for all of us.
"Will Date for Food"
by Noël Christianson
"Mom, you live like there’s no tomorrow." Obviously, my son was dizzy from seeing me fold clothes, watch CNN with the phone to my ear while adjusting leg weights for final reps. I never did take living for granted. My mind’s eye carries along a rhythmic hour glass, dribbling sand with every heartbeat. It’s my reminder of this world’s short gig. Really, if I have any excesses, blame my Dad. He had a way of delivering quips that made you think. My "life’s short" attitude began incubating lap-side when he said, "You know, you start dying the moment you are born."
Whether it was his voice or teacher’s demeanor he dragged home each night, his dinner time talks made you listen. Truth had a place at our table. But life with a teacher is not always easy. At home there are no recess bells to free you from the lecture sure to come over any topic. Teachers are well-read and are trained to explain everything. There is a sure-fire system, a root to the problem, a cause and effect and historical reference to all of life’s foibles. I now know to settle in real comfy when talking with Dad.
None of his children are complaining about those dinner times. Mom scurried around tending to boiling pots and our needs. The warmth from that kitchen, conversation and good times jelled our sense of self, preparing us for the future. Unfortunately my new cynicism causes me to peer suspiciously through the clouds of steam those meals brought. Little did I know, my Truth would be "This ain’t the way your family life is gonna be."
On the Eve of my divorce anniversary (is there a Hallmark card for that?) I continue to analyze what went wrong. My sister and I share the common bond of not having good luck with men. Goodluckwithmen. It sounds like a Bavarian cookie. Well, these cookies crumbled all right. On the outside, our marriages looked pretty good but the real stuffing showed up when lifelong promises were tossed aside, fell and splattered. After kicking around the pieces through therapy, self-help books and Anything Anonymous meetings, Sis, I think I have the answer. Those Great Depression boys are the best.
Our parents talked often of The Depression. Hard Times was the hub of their adolescent lives and the spokes from that era radiated into their futures. We heard stories of hard work, no work, no food, big fear. It seemed grimy. The Dirty Thirties. Families struggled to survive – together. Did my relationship-sensitive ears hear through the bleakest days of this century there was commitment?
But as my Dad would say, "Things could be worse."
At that time, he did have it worse. Orphaned in the middle of The Depression, he later lucked out to marry my mom who held the same belief in family covenant. They survived The Depression, never quite shaking off the residue, causing them to cling to Family and Faith. Strong ethics helped assuage their new Gripes of Wrath: illness, clamoring kids, penniless days.
So maybe I have been going through this husband-hunting thing all wrong. I could run a personal ad looking for some down-trodden war refugee who escaped famine, floods, a POW camp, hungry for hearth and home. Beaten down from survival uncertainties, he would be content to have me clang a tin cup along the boards to announce dinnertime and serve the man some gruel. Add a warm bath and he would think he was in heaven. Repeat after me, "I will learn commitment."
16th century George Herbert spouted, "One Father is more than 100 school masters." Think of the mathematical ramifications the impact this father-school master’s talks had on us through the decades. We girls listened. It’s been challenging for us to pursue relationships without testing and grading each man against our standards without lowering the curve. So when I gnash my teeth in frustration over the men I meet who aren’t strong, smart or in any way committed to family, I just blame my Dad.