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So I happened to be out to dinner the other night with one of my twin daughters. Everyone else in our family was otherwise occupied, so it was just the two of us.
Over her salad, she commented that she wasn't sure she would like to get married. "Getting married is like getting a tattoo. It's forever!" she said with a bit of a twinkle in her eye, "it's expensive to get and hard to get rid of."
When I stopped laughing, she asked me in a more serious tone, "Why did you get married?" Ah, one of those wonderful moments of parenthood when so much rests on your reply.
And I paused and said, "That's an interesting story. When I was 30 and looking intently for Ms. Right, I attended my Great Uncle Drew's funeral, whom I knew well and loved. His widow, my grandfather's sister, Aunt Lucille, was a beautiful, intelligent and regal woman. I adored her and thought very highly of her opinion about things. So I thought she might shed some light on my dilemma, and I asked her, "What made you know that Uncle Drew was the right guy?" Seeing right through me, she replied, "You know they're the right one when you can't imagine not being married to them."
I liked that answer and used it as my mantra, for a while. And then I realized that although good for some, that advice was not right for me, because I can imagine just about anything.
Why did I get married? Because after meeting my sweetheart, it was painful to imagine not seeing her ever again, never speaking to her or holding her hand. And I knew then that I wanted to marry her.
So much like the French philosopher who said, "When I was young, I resolved never to marry till I met the perfect woman. And at last one day I found her, but alas she was waiting for the ideal man." But, in my case, she married me anyway.
And that answer seemed to satisfy a fourteen-year old's curiosity, for the moment anyway.
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