Denouncing Hate, and Highlighting Love: A Letter to My Darling Husband on Our Anniversary
The headliner this weekend was hatred.
It reared its ugly head on the cable network news where a savage Trump rally was planned, yet again in the most ill-advised of places. A location designed to create chaos and ignite anger. An urban college campus where 75% of the students belonged to races or religious groups that Trump has either called rapists, terrorists, or no-good slackers, and all of which he has decided should be walled off, ejected, jailed, or killed.
This hatred was highlighted through broadcasts 24/7, especially here in Chicago, until I clicked off the TV with despair and decided to denounce it and Mr. Drumpf altogether.
The morning after the hate rally, I placed an early primary vote for a rational, positive, adult candidate, and then exhaled a long, calming breath.
And today, I have declared to myself, will be a day of love. Which, frankly, is doubly appropriate since it’s also my and my husband’s anniversary.
I’m seldom a gushy person. As a matter of fact, I find gushiness somewhat embarrassing. However, my husband doesn’t. So because of The Donald’s propensity toward hatred, and my husband’s toward public displays of affection, I’m temporarily casting my insecurities to the wind, and honoring my husband, Jame, through this note and poem for all to see.
Life is too short not to celebrate love, life, and all of its good things with abandon.
Here goes nothing.
We were really just kids when we met, weren’t we?
Do you remember that night in the park at college: both of us surrounded by our separate groups of friends that merged into one around a bonfire?
I stepped away from the crowd and stared up at the twinkling sky.
Your pick up line was a pseudo-debonaire, “Ask me anything you want to know about the stars. I’m an astronomy major.”
And I, reeling from a recently ended relationship, uninterested and unimpressed, threw out a reluctant, “Fine, then. Where’s the big dipper tonight?”
You glanced at the sky for a moment, and then quickly came clean. “Okay, I’m not really an astronomy major, but I can see that our future is written in the stars.”
I’m sure I rolled my eyes and shot you a wry, raised eyebrow, having been completely disenchanted by your cheesy Hallmark come on.
But then we began to talk. And you were funny. And charming. And smelled of Polo, Barbasol, and kindness.
You asked for my number, which I happily rattled off knowing that you would never call since you didn’t even have a pen to write it down.
Yet, you remembered it.
And you did call.
I was 19, and you were a young 21. What did we know of the world, of life, of love?
The funny thing is, here we are 33 years later, 29 years of marriage today. And, despite our many differences, or perhaps because of them, the combined “we”, our “couple hood”, works wonderfully well.
Thank you for your cheesy Hallmark greeting all those many years ago, and for the most precious gift that followed . . . you.
And, to return the favor, here’s a Hallmark message that I’ve written for you.