I should've known we run into problems in our marriage when I realized she absolutely loved the Eureka Trucker's Christmas Parade.
It's easy to compromise on most things, for the sake of the relationship. But, I spent a couple cold, December Saturday nights bouncing my youngest son on my lap pretending that she wasn't absolutely crazy for finding that damn trucker's parade so enjoyable. I found it pointless and, really, of no value to the holiday season.
How could we compromise when she loves what I found utterly disdainful?
I think about the trucker's parade every year about this time and thank God I live far enough away so that it comes and goes without my knowing it. When I visited Eureka on a work trip, one of my sons' best friends (who's actually more a member of the family than a friend) joked that he and his wife are on or very close to the truck parade route...I think he was joking to make his new house sound good...I hope. Nobody brags about being near the truck parade route.
All I can figure is that people enjoy Christmastime and Christmas lights so much that they can enjoy them -- even if they share the spotlight with a bunch of trucks. I can't think of one earthly connection between trucks and Christmas...beyond that parade.
It started as a pet peeve, then grew into something they've yet to create a word to describe. How...who...why...do those guys in the 18-wheelers actually think honking their horns in a "Jingle Bells" beat results in them playing "Jingle Bells" on their horn? Their horns aren't musical instruments. They don't high different notes. So, every year for too many years, I sat there with my kids and pretend to sing along to:
"Honk Honk Honk ... Honk Honk Honk ... Honk Honk Honk honk-honk..."
It could be that I'm the Grinch when it comes to most things Christmas and that the trucker's parade drew my ire because it just happened to run by my place of business and I happened to be married to a Christmas Trucker's Parade fanatic for the bulk of the 1990s. I've never seen the Suisun City Boat Parade of Lights down here either. People who love Christmas swear it's a sight to behold...all the boats with Christmas lights, woa, boy!
I suspect somebody who just likes the lights and the season came up with the idea for the parades and hooked people in who felt the same way.
My younger kids were stumbling through Comcast (our cable company) and the On Demand section. (Eureka has, arguably, the worst cable provider I've ever seen. Suddenlink? Is that it? Man! I'll admit it's a snap judgment.) You can go to On Demand and watch TV shows, movies, sports events -- whenever you want to watch them. My daughter loves that show, "John & Kate Plus Eight." (I think the spin-off will eventually be, "John Leaves Kate With Eight" because Kate seems insufferable to me.)
While my daughter was looking for "John & Kate" she found "Crazy Christmas" -- something like that. She called it up and...lo and behold...she found herself watching the Ferndale Christmas Tractor Parade. My younger son watched briefly, mentioning he was in Ferndale and it doesn't surprise him that the tractor parade's a social event.
I know.
I know.
Nobody twisted my arm making me go to the truck parade. And, what do I care if somebody else enjoys the darn thing? But, in fairness, I was married to a woman who absolutely loved the damn thing and, briefly, she was brainwashing my youngest kids to love it, too, so...I do have a reason to vent here now, right?
Or, simply, I am the Grinch.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Forgetting the Unforgettable
Thirty-one years have passed since her and I wed.
I'm really not given credit for much, but I'm often credited for having a great memory.
It seems, then, like I should be able what day of December 1977 that Amy and I got married.
How many other unforgettable moments have or will I forget? And, how could I forget the day we wed, but remember for perpetuity that her birthday is Oct. 18. I, honestly, have trouble remembering my kids' birthdays, but...by God...I remember Amy's birthday. Our wedding day seems like it should be easier to remember than her birthday, particularly after all these years.
It was a New Year's Eve day, in the mid-morning, when she telephoned to say she was coming home from shopping with her mom because, "We need to talk." We did need to talk about me being a crappy husband, but since it turned out she needed to talk about leaving for the man she'd been having an affair with for months, I should remember more. I should remember if she made the phone call to begin the process of leaving on Dec. 31, 1988 or on Dec. 31, 1989. I have no idea.
(Ted Note: It was Jan. 31, 1988. I remembered...days after writing this.)
We're so sure that the day, or the event, is unforgettable, you know? I remember thinking that my wedding day was one I'd never forget. I recall the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I listened to an abridged version of the story that would lead to my divorce. I remember that my oldest kids, who were then in elementary school, were playing football over at Cutten School while we talker, er, while she talked and dove directly into denial.
Dammit! See? I remember the kids were playing football on a sunny day, but I can't remember what year it was. I even remember that she hadn't actually been with her mom that morning (duh...right?). Well, I guess that would actually be harder to forget that piece of information than the actual date. It's not often that a man finds out his wife's having been an affair that even the neighbors knew about...with a big, ol' truck driver...who, apparently, had a temper ... especially since the guy realized he was no great shakes as a husband and that she could've done way better. (Although she didn't do better right then, I think she has subsequently done better for herself. Things tend to work out. She's happy. I'm alive.)
Perhaps, I define "unforgettable" differently than most.
I can't remember the day or the year that I got married the second time. It isn't that I consciously diminished the meaning of that day, let alone the act of getting married. But, I can't remember anything except that it was almost certainly 1994 because my youngest son was born after my vasectomy reversal surgery in January 1995.
Unforgettable.
I'm really not given credit for much, but I'm often credited for having a great memory.
It seems, then, like I should be able what day of December 1977 that Amy and I got married.
How many other unforgettable moments have or will I forget? And, how could I forget the day we wed, but remember for perpetuity that her birthday is Oct. 18. I, honestly, have trouble remembering my kids' birthdays, but...by God...I remember Amy's birthday. Our wedding day seems like it should be easier to remember than her birthday, particularly after all these years.
It was a New Year's Eve day, in the mid-morning, when she telephoned to say she was coming home from shopping with her mom because, "We need to talk." We did need to talk about me being a crappy husband, but since it turned out she needed to talk about leaving for the man she'd been having an affair with for months, I should remember more. I should remember if she made the phone call to begin the process of leaving on Dec. 31, 1988 or on Dec. 31, 1989. I have no idea.
(Ted Note: It was Jan. 31, 1988. I remembered...days after writing this.)
We're so sure that the day, or the event, is unforgettable, you know? I remember thinking that my wedding day was one I'd never forget. I recall the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I listened to an abridged version of the story that would lead to my divorce. I remember that my oldest kids, who were then in elementary school, were playing football over at Cutten School while we talker, er, while she talked and dove directly into denial.
Dammit! See? I remember the kids were playing football on a sunny day, but I can't remember what year it was. I even remember that she hadn't actually been with her mom that morning (duh...right?). Well, I guess that would actually be harder to forget that piece of information than the actual date. It's not often that a man finds out his wife's having been an affair that even the neighbors knew about...with a big, ol' truck driver...who, apparently, had a temper ... especially since the guy realized he was no great shakes as a husband and that she could've done way better. (Although she didn't do better right then, I think she has subsequently done better for herself. Things tend to work out. She's happy. I'm alive.)
Perhaps, I define "unforgettable" differently than most.
I can't remember the day or the year that I got married the second time. It isn't that I consciously diminished the meaning of that day, let alone the act of getting married. But, I can't remember anything except that it was almost certainly 1994 because my youngest son was born after my vasectomy reversal surgery in January 1995.
Unforgettable.
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