Pulling

He is the baby of His family. His siblings agreed that He was coddled because of it. However, He doesn't remember being indulged in any way. Maybe that is because we don't see those things ourselves. If I were to believe that He were though, I guess I could count maybe nine or ten years where the said babying would have occurred, (my reasoning is that after 5th grade little boys grow into big boys, and their innocent demeanor looses its sweetness). Therefore, at the most His cocoon only lasted for ten years, (this needs to be said because siblings keep score far into adulthood). Studies also suggest that youngest children have fewer rules placed on them, thus making them more likely to shirk accountability and become less reliable. Well people are also more complex than studies may suggest.

It was during college that His position in His family transitioned into the eldest in terms of responsibility. When His father needed someone to help with family issues, he asked Him. He could be counted on to show up and do what needed to be done. His willingness to take on these family responsibilities began a slow slide into where His siblings began calling Him when they needed help. While His father was ill with cancer, He took it on Himself to intercept any problems from reaching His father. During the same time His mother turned to Him when she needed help with some serious issues that her husband would have usually taken care of. This was a very stressful time for His family.

Unfortunately, quite a few family issues cropped up during this very taxing time. He took care of them. Whatever it entailed. However, His family responsibilities did not end with the death of His father, as catastrophes are always looming on the horizon, (and which continue to creep up year after year). The thing that both annoys and impresses me is that His helming the family problem ship has continued far beyond the limits of His ten year stint as the baby who was coddled. If He had a penance to carry it out it was fulfilled a long time ago. He didn't want the position as head of the family, but it was placed on His shoulders by unspoken mutual family consent, and I have watched Him take it on with confidence, tact and equanimity. Somebody had to help with the load, and He put His head through the oxbow.

He bears the yoke...

...one more reason I love Him.

 

Applying

Someone thwarted His advancement at work in the most malicious (staying true to the definition of petty and spiteful) way possible. They did not just frustrate His promotion they conspired to damage His reputation. I was obviously naive, but I could not believe that an adult professional employed such machinations to advance themselves. I guess I had just never encountered it. However, His character was found to be irreproachable.

When He related all that was going on I was infuriated. I was mainly upset because the actions of someone who was openly conniving would even be taken seriously. The environment was sullied to the point where He decided He did not want to be part of an organization rife with pettiness. It resulted in Him slowly exiting the company. It seemed at the time that dishonesty was being rewarded, as the purpose was to get Him out of the running.

I am sure this happens to a lot of people, with various outcomes. I wanted Him to stay and defend His reputation for His honors sake. However, He said that the atmosphere encouraged discontent, and those involved would deal with natural consequences (hypocritical and disingenuous management creates hypocritical and disingenuous employees). This has proven to be true-but this is beside the point I am trying to make.

What surprised me was His attitude toward the offender. Of course when it was fresh and raw He was upset. However, He never retaliated in any way. He didn't even point out the obvious collusion. He chose to not stoop to that level. After it was over He seemed forgiving. When He encounters them in public He is courteous and even friendly. This, however, is not what impresses me either. Rather it is how He speaks and acts in private about the incident. He rarely brings the past offense up, I do, (I am having a hard time letting it go-even after years). When I do He does not harbor any ill will. He genuinely applies clemency. Integrity, moral character, and tolerance is often a charade.

He is authentic...

...one more reason I love Him.  

Painting

I get annoyed by His idiosyncrasies sometimes. I have wondered if He has had the same feelings towards mine. I believe that some quirky, distinctive personality characteristics are innate. I fully acknowledge a certain, shall we gently say, vexatious personal characteristic. It revolves around aesthetic values; arrangement, placement, line, shape, and color. I can eye straight lines, create near true geometric shapes, and recognize compatible hues and tones. The most problematic aspect of my condition is sensing minuscule discrepancies in horizontal and vertical exactness, which I am compelled to fix. He has had many years to acclimate to my behavior. In the beginning, when I said we needed to rehang, move, straighten, or repaint something that we had just barely finished doing, He would complain that it wasn't necessary. However, my inner turmoil would require me to re-do it on my own. Eventually He decided that it was easier to accommodate my mental aesthetic harmony than fight it.

I had been looking for the perfect gold color for my bedroom walls. I painted them four times during the course of one  month. Not just one, but three coats of paint for each color. Although each application technically matched the gold hue I was looking for it seemed "off" somehow. One day I decided that what would satisfy my harmonious color craving was a true metallic gold color. That afternoon when He came home from work expecting to finally sleep in His bed that night, He found me instead applying a fifth color choice. Painting with metallic paint requires quite a bit more time and effort that ordinary latex paint. In fact, it took two base coats, three metallic coats, and two coats of glaze (which is a whole different process altogether). However, when it was finished it "felt" right (and it absolutely glows in the sunlight). 

It has been a little over six years and I am ready for a change. I do not expect to struggle with the same color issues as before since I am just painting the walls a cream color. He however, knows that there is no such thing as just one cream color. In fact, He has been so well prepped by my pickiness that He knows that the endless variations of "whites" are more troubling to me than any other color ( I can see the yellow, or blue in them). When I told Him it was time to paint again all He said was "really?" (with just the slightest sigh). He is now quietly (the optimum word here), anticipating not just painting, but picture rehanging, furniture moving, rug re-rolling, and all the minute adjusting that these imply.

He quietly endures...

...one more reason I love Him.       

     

Grilling

Danger came knocking on our door in the form of a 16 year old boy. There is always a first time. In this instance it happened on a warm May evening. This moment had been building for a few years. At first we just discussed the inevitable, which He usually dismissed as too far off in the future to warrant any real thought. But as the time drew near He became increasingly agitated every time I broached the subject. Finally, when the subject became unavoidable He insisted that we could stop Danger dead in his tracks. Mmmm. At this point I explained that He was being unreasonable and that He now must revert to plan B. Plan B had been incubating in His mind for many years. It was actually a variation of the plan used on Him by my father, which He had decided was a good plan (as it had been effective in its outcome). However, He was going to take plan B up a few notches in the (desperate), hope that it may curtail any unforeseen Danger in the future.

This particular Spring evening, as Danger was already on his way, I had spent the last two hours helping our eldest daughter prepare. We were instructed that when the doorbell rang He would answer the door while we waited in her bedroom. Danger rang the bell. He answered it (a fairly intimidating figure), and invited him in. Although I did not witness the actual event (or what my girls call the grilling), I can imagine what took place. Danger sat dressed in his finest rented tuxedo, a boxed red corsage in his hand, while He proceeded to inform him exactly who he was taking out of our house that evening; His baby, His precious charge, His adored treasure, the one He had protected, nurtured, guarded, and loved for 16 years. It was made clear to Danger that if he wanted to accept the responsibility for the care of His daughter that evening, he would be held accountable. Danger was instructed how to treat her, how to protect her, and when to return with her. I am sure His instruction was polite, but I am also sure He intended that Danger leave intimidated.

Many a time Danger has come knocking, not for one but two daughters. Our girls have professed mortification at times for His insistence on interviewing Danger. Nevertheless, His interviews have also ensured that His daughters know that He is watching out for them. When the girls reached 18 His routine for meeting Danger at the door eased up a bit (however, it did not stop). Now Danger is not greeted at the door until his third consecutive visit. His theory is that three times means there is a possibility that Danger may stick around for a while, even permanently. He has run Danger off before. And while it may have upset the girls at the time, in hindsight they have been grateful. Inevitably, the day came when Danger wanted to stay. By this time He had had multiple "visits" with said Danger. He (reluctantly), realized that if Danger was willing to pass through His gauntlet again, just maybe Danger would be worthy to stay. He was once called Danger, and He knows who he is from a different perspective. He knew the impact that my father's interview had on Him, so I have trusted Him on this one. His girls know that they are being watched over and cared for, whether they like it or not.

He uses plan B...

...one more reason I love Him.

Dishing

When we were first married we did not have a dishwasher and we had to wash all the dishes by hand. At that time we were both working and He was still in school. Our meals were fairly uncomplicated and meal preparation fell to the one whose schedule allowed it. Besides sharing in cooking we also shared in the clean-up. This was fairly enjoyable as we were still in the stage of "playing house" (you know, when life is uncomplicated, there are no parenting duties, and there are minimal mouths to feed and no nutritional demands). I guess you could say that our serious meals began when we started a family (literally from conception). It was then when I took over as family chef.

I am a stay-at-home mom (I hate this politically correct term, I much prefer homemaker, because I feel that describes my job more accurately). As such, I feel that my schedule facilitates cooking more readily. However, I also love cooking and baking, and I can stir up a mess of pots with the best of them. However, I hate doing dishes. Planning and preparing a well rounded, nutritionally rich, and delicious meal requires quite a bit of effort. I have often thought how nice it would be to walk into your own home and smell freshly baked bread, see the table set, and all you have to do is sit down and eat (only in my dreams). I am not complaining about being the one who does the cooking, I just have wondered how nice (and easy), that would be.

His mother was a good cook, and I know He grew up eating healthy, well planned, hot meals. However, He also lived on His own and cooked for Himself. During that time He probably realized how good He had it at home. I think that is one reason He has always been very appreciative of my cooking efforts, even with their accompanying mess. Like I said, when I look at the aftermath of preparing dinner my heart sinks at the sight of all those dirty dishes calling my name. Thats when He proves that His gratitude is not just in words. If I cook, I don't clean up. He recruits the kids and ensures the dishes get done.

He washes...

...one more reason I love Him.  

Volunteering

A few years ago He was feeling ill. The doctor noted that He had a low white blood count, but He could not find a cause. He was given a rundown of tests. This went on for over a year. I urged Him to see a Hematologist (whose practice incidentally is often combined with Oncology). After His fathers previous diagnosis with cancer He was hesitant. However, He finally became so run down He relented. We went to the Oncologist/Hematologist together bracing for the worst.

The doctor ran a battery of tests. However, she was baffled. There was no indication of cancer, a virus, autoimmune disorders, infections, congenital diseases, or any kind of blood disease. When we met with her to review the test results, she asked Him some very direct questions trying to find maybe a behavioral pattern that would explain the problem. Finally, she asked Him if there was any reason why He might think His blood count could be so low? He could not think of any. Her last comment was, "it looks like something is just sapping your blood".

He used to be a volunteer fireman (volunteer just denotes "on call" rather than untrained). Regularly His department would give blood to the Red Cross. As a first responder He had witnessed many accidents and recognized the need for donations. It was a community service. He always signed up when our church had a blood drive too. He wasn't just a "regular" giver in the periodic sense, but year after year. He was on the LIST. He is O+ the universal donor. When the red cross needs donations, their first line of offense is a list of past volunteers, from whom they call and solicit donations. Its murky, but I am vaguely aware of them calling for Him once in a while and leaving messages. Apparently, they called Him a lot. And, they did not bother to keep track of how often He gave. As His confession unfolded the cause of His illness became clear. His blood was being sapped almost monthly. To mine, and the doctors amazement He had not made the connection. He excused His behavior by personalizing His contribution. Someones son, daughter, wife, mother, cousin, playmate, outfielder, swim coach, viola instructor, whatever, needed HIS blood. How could He not answer the call as an O+ hero? After four months of treatment returning His blood count to near normal He is now on the honor system to only give blood once every six months.

They needed Him...

one more reason I love Him.

Reversal

He is the youngest in His family and His dad was older when he was born. When He was a young boy He remembers always thinking His dad was the strongest man alive. He thought his father was invincible. He was very close with His father. They were compatriots. He followed him around, He wanted to be just like him. Even when He grew up and moved out they always found time to be together. His dad called Him Pedro. He doesn't know why-its not even close to His real name. However, it proved to be prophetic. Without getting lost in the meaning of names it is a derivative of Peter, which has been assigned the historical association with "rock".

 Reality came sooner than expected. He was only 32 when His father was diagnosed with advance staged bone cancer. The doctor said that he had already had it for many years (he had just ignored the symptoms, or passed them off on getting older). The family was prepared for his health to decline rapidly. During his fathers battle with, acceptance of, and finally submission to the disease He was unfaltering. His father started chemotherapy first. Soon a tumor was found at the base of his skull on the spine. Radiation took a nasty toll on his already weakened condition. In all, His father struggled through ten months of progressively depilitating pain and decay. He was by his father's side every single day.

Its not just that He was there, He was his rock. Their roles had been reversed. Where He had once called His father whenever He needed advice, help, rescuing, understanding, acceptance, and solace, He now accepted the elder role. It must have been overwhelming to his father to become helpless, and it was inevitable that those frustrations came to surface. However, He never lost His patience with him and always treated him with respect. As His father slowly lost his mobility His mother became increasingly incapable of physically caring for him, and what had once been daily visits became twice daily (and sometimes more). The day came when He held His father as he left this world. Finally, father-son roles had come full circle. His first real test of manhood was when He became the man his father had been to Him.

He passed...

...one more reason I love Him.