So, I have this husband, and you know, he’s really awesome. He’s nice to everyone. Literally. Even me. He’s so nice to everyone, you might say he’s too nice. Here’s an example, one time he gave this complete stranger, a women, his phone number, she was clearly kind of “off”. He thought she seemed “nice”, he said raising his eyebrows with a “maybe?” He met her at the White Hen. Cause that’s where he hangs out. Before work, sometimes after, sometimes when he should be working. He goes to the White Hen, grabs his hourly cup of coffee, stands by the newspaper racks and looks for an opportunity. What kind of opportunity? The opportunity to start a conversation, maybe challenge an idea? The opportunity to make another person defend his views, to prove that his decisions were based in logic. And that those decisions were based on the truth. It is precisely my husband’s gift to see what motivates people as much as it is his curse.
And so, I get back to the young lady and the phone number. He thought, maybe he could help her. Spiritually, speaking. Really, if you knew him, you would know this was the truth, he would really mean it in the most innocent way. But you see, then she started calling everyday. I told him she was maybe not completely balanced. He would start to explain to me that she believed in all kinds of odd stuff, and he really wanted to keep the conversation going. Of course I had to explain to him, that the appropriate place to have this conversation they were having was, well, not with him, but with a therapist in a mental institution. Finally, after a few days, he realized that her calling daily was causing issues, he had to put “DO NOT ANSWER” as the name on the caller ID. Eventually the calls stopped.
That’s the other thing about my husband, he has to enter every contact in a secret code on his cell phone.
Thinking I understand his system, I say,”OK I need to call the painter, that would be under “P” and his name right?” His response “no, that’s under H for house, then his name will say Joe painter.”
Curious I ask, “OK so what about the plumber?”
“Well he’s under B.”
” B” I’m incredulous.
“Yes B for basement.”
“Yes but he’s a plumber who works on our house.”
“Yes, but he’s the plumber who worked on the basement”
“But why do you have a “house” category and a “Basement” category?”
“Because I do”
“Well why don’t you combine them?”
“Because this is the way I remember them”
“You realize that makes no sense.”
“It makes sense to me”
“OK, but if you die, I’m never going to figure this out” I say with a smile.
That is another side of my husband, it does make sense to him. In a way that only makes sense to him. And this is because this very special unique guy, kinda fits within the confines of a label, that you might guess by reading. But it’s just a label. And labels don’t mean anything other than some combination of these behaviors often occurs. However, it doesn’t say anything about the unusual, and fascinating way in which these behaviors manifest themselves. You know I quote one of Isaiah’s gymnastic teachers “At least he has a personality.” This is one thing my husband and son truly have in common. Their magnanimous, charming, and highly entertaining personalities. None of these traits do I embody. But this is good. This family needs balance.
We have so many things in common however, we have easily as many that aren’t. For instance, my last blog post (you can read it here)? The one about toxins? I made him read it. Yeah… didn’t so much as blink. He lives on the beautiful banks of denial too. But what can I do? Other than wage a silent war of brainwashing and bait-and-switch. Of course, I will never win this war. Because, he’s 57, healthy as a horse, plays tennis 7 days a week, he’s got me with the “how is it really going to effect me” card. I’m still not thrilled though, so I say “Then at least do it for Isaiah.” And he says “Well, you do that right?”. “Yes I do”. “So, we’re fine then” he says. “Yes we’re fine.” Because really? Where are you going to go from their anyway. He’s already stopped listening, he’s in the middle of doing something else. Reading an email, or a text on his phone. Trying to find a price on a quote on his computer. The guy works two jobs, and has no sense of priorities or organization. My husband has two switches “moving” and “sleeping”. Sometimes “thinking” takes to long and “sleeping” takes over. So, I do my best to “think” for him, and everybody is happy.
stay-tuned for part 2,