I never liked wimpy men. I was raised an old-school country girl, an athlete from childhood. When I was single and dating someone, if I began to sense that I might have the ability to beat him up, I'd break up with him. He had to love God, make me laugh, respect me, and be able to best me in arm wrestling. On top of that, he had to ask Daddy for permission to date me.
When Daddy told me, when I was 13 years old, that all my future dates would have to ask him for permission to take me out, I began digging myself a grave out in the backyard. Our parents were wise to tell us far enough in advance for us to get accustomed to the idea. By the time I started dating, it was a fixture in my brain that this was what I would have to do. And when I went off to college in another state, the same standard was expected. Unbelievable. It was hard to deal with, but I began to see that it was the best thing for me. Even when I dated people that I probably shouldn't have, I had a form of protection. It all may seem a crazy notion to some, that a parent should have this kind of involvement in their child's life, but it's a time-proven principle that still works.
I don't know if love at first sight is always true, but when I saw Ken Norton, sitting there on the third row at church, Mr. Hunky Buff Man, intently taking sermon notes while those shoulders took up two pew spaces, I fell in love. Well maybe not love, but I certainly fell into extremely, curiously interested like. And then there was the night at prayer meeting, when we came in late. Several people said prayers, then I heard a heartfelt one coming from way in the back. I peeked, and there was that nice slice of beefcake praying on his knees in the corner of the room. I mentioned something to my Mama about him. She said, "What about Jeff?" (My current boyfriend). I said, "What about Jeff?" I also conveniently overlooked that gorgeous, spunky girl that was often snuggled up next to Ken. Back to the real world, after a few months I broke up with Jeff when I realized that he was too much of a Mama's boy and spent his Sundays working on his Mustang Mach 1 rather than going to church. I also suspected I could whup him, if it came right down to it.
Ken asked me out (he and his girlfriend had broken up, hallelujer) and talked to my Daddy before I could even blink. An Amy Grant concert in February, a month away. Daddy reluctantly said yes. Ken was a new Christian, brash and young, with a lot of his wildcat-ness still showing. I imagine Daddy was nervous about the writing on the wall. Either way, rather than have a normal dating relationship, we hung out at church functions and with his best friend, Brian. The night of the concert, Brian's date stood him up and we three ended up laughing until we were in pain. We did several things together, but because we were both still burnt from past relationships, we held each other at arm's length. One Sunday night after church, I saw he and Daddy talking on the back row. Daddy didn't think Ken was mature enough. Ken didn't think we were working out well. We quit "dating." That was the best thing that could have happened. The stigma and pressure of a romance was taken away. That was when we began to be true friends. We would talk for hours, on the phone and after our singles group events. We'd sit in the parking lot at church talking in our cars until the police would drive up and ask if I was okay. He and Brian would pick me up for lunch at work. We'd spend weekends, the three of us, doing all sorts of activities. Both of them were men that loved God and were honorable. They were athletic, handsome and terribly funny. Gals at work would ask which one I was dating and I would tell them, "Neither!" It was a wonderful time of fun and healing for me, where I could enjoy unclouded relationships with the opposite sex, fellas that I loved and respected. But I still adored me some Ken, over and above....
Brian took a liking to my little sister, who was home from college. It changed everything. Now, when the guys came over, it was Brian and Melanie spooning and sparking. Which left Ken and I in a somewhat awkward place. One particular evening, Brian asked Mel if she would like to go down the river with him on Labor Day. She agreed. Ken turned to me and asked if I'd like to go too. I said sure, of course. It was no different than most of the weekends over the last summer, where I was usually hanging out with Ken and Brian. We've always enjoyed each others' dry humor and smart-aleck discussions, but Ken overstretched his luck when he came out with: "Good. I asked everybody else and nobody could go, but I knew you would. You always go." My blood began to simmer, as I thought of another of Ken's infuriating statements: "I like you, Rose, because you are safe!" The guys left, to go to a friend's house down the street. As the steam began coming out of my ears, I called our friend and asked for Ken. I told him I was not one of the boys and that I was offended. I said I was not going to go down the river with him and he wasn't going to treat me that way. I hung up. Our family left to go to a movie. When we got back, near midnight, we could hear the phone ringing as Daddy unlocked the door. He said, no kidding, "It's Ken. Now it begins." I said, "Huh?!" Daddy picked up the phone and handed it to me. It was Ken, telling me he was sorry and how I was more fun than anybody and would I please go down the river with him. I grudgingly agreed to go. The river trip was a little disastrous. I was mad and irritated. Done.
Apparently he didn't get the memo. Because after that, I was the best thing since sliced bread. Lightning struck a few days later, when he kissed me in my parents' kitchen. We got married in a fever less than 4 months later, much to the shock of his family. I was young, ignorant and oblivious to the proper etiquette of these things. All I knew was, we were PB&J, peas and carrots, Captain and Tenille, and bees to honey. We were meant to be together.
Today is our 34th anniversary. We have known all sorts of seas...calm, stormy, rolling, choppy, dead, roaring. Some of the seas have helped us along, some have threatened to kill us. He's had to endure my maddening distractions and rabbit trails, not to mention sad housekeeping skills. I've had to endure his bossiness and rule-keeping. But where one is weak, the other is strong. It's sometimes easy and often hard. Love is a commitment, not a feeling, though the tides of feelings rush in and rush out all through the years. Thank God, His grace is bigger than the both of us. Often, when we're irritated as an inferno at each other, the Lord stops us and makes us think about how we're hurting each other. I think of that long-ago night, where I heard and saw that big lumberjack of a man praying on his knees in a corner. He's still doing that praying. My heart melts. Love can walk through fire without blinking. And I definitely can't beat that boy up.
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