Often, in this space, I take advantage of my husband’s good nature and mock the silly, man-things he says. But they are not the sum of him, or any man.
He’s a jock – a three-sport athlete who played football and baseball for a Division I college. In spite of, or maybe because of this, he’s not a sports nut. He does have a fit when commentators refer to race car drivers and thoroughbred horses as athletes.
He likes yard work.
He’s a neat freak. Although he’s a bit inconsistent with his habits, nothing jams his mojo like a little mess. Every six months or so, he freaks out and has to reorganize the garage, but that’s another post altogether.
He likes to cook but he won’t let me help. I once made a grocery run for him in the middle of one of his cooking experiments…The checkout clerk sniffed the air as I stood there and asked, “Do you smell smoke?” I replied, “That’s me. My husband’s making a roux.”
He will eat pretty much anything, as long as it doesn’t include fruit, of any kind. You cannot fathom how appalled he was to discover that A1 Steak Sauce is made from raisins, and I will never live down the Thanksgiving when I defiled the cornbread dressing with them.
He will let our daughter do pretty much anything she wants to him, including giving him a bath. In the tub. I have photos.
He worries about his parents, and my parents, and his nephews and whether he’s meeting all his family obligations while he works incredibly hard.
He is a very smart man, but he never feels the need to prove it. In fact, he will let people tease him long past the point at which I would have handed them their heads. I could never take what I dish out to him.
Not too long ago, I had a conversation with a friend of mine about starting a family. I told her you just have to look at your husband and ask yourself, “Do I want to reproduce that?”
I did. I do. The world needs more men like him.
Now, let me tell you what he said last Sunday…